The three members of Shiver like nothing better than to collaborate separately and are involved in numerous projects.
It is a surreptitious yet insidious opening, each player dropping hints about what they may have to offer, little rumours of what may yet follow: long decaying notes, the piano stretched, resounding; dislocated drum strips, a veiled threat of momentum like some long-dormant analogue machinery, heard just out of the corner of the ear.
Electric shadows infect the doomy piano and rain-scattered teasingly tribal drums, where Chris Sharkey‘s guitar is a series of incandescent shards torn from the sky fizzling, raging in the aura and warmth of the bass. Some sounds are almost unrecognisable and can only emanate from the Moog which Matthew exchanges with the piano at whatever whim may take him. The bass can not be pinned down, amorphous yet sanguine, trying to pick up the pieces of the doomed romance that the piano is describing. Weather patterns move in irregular blusters, then drift stalled with the circular sweep of indistinct textures bathing them in gentle light. The Moog injects a sense of timeless unease, a sci-fi quaver while paradiddles escape Joost Hendrickx‘s orbit, crackling rimshots and subtle momentum keeping things moving towards a goal; but they are somehow at odds with the strobe-like synth and Andy Champion‘s distorted bass emanations.It is hard to say who sets the tempo and who directs proceedings as instruments swirl in and out of the mix, dropping back to allow room, twisting their angle of attack to somehow interact in an unexpected and novel way. These transitions are seamless and are just indicative of how natural the fit is between Shiver and Matthew.
It is improv, but there is something measured about it, a sense of control that wraps the surprises in slippery smooth packaging, hard to grip; but when you do so, it is well worth the effort. I am already looking forward to Volume 2.-Mr Olivetti-
