Once again, Discus give us a musical body swerve with the latest release from improv monster The Geordie Approach.
Shields, their first album in eight years, is made up of two monolithic slabs of rumbling noise that evoke fooling around in an abandoned railway yard.
Ghostly howls of train whistles are scraped and scratched by scattered percussion on the first section, “North”, with that ominous feeling that this is a slow build to something monumental. It is hard to tell if this is slow or fast, as speed is no longer relevant here, with long smears of sound hanging in the rust-infused air, mist sparkling in the odd sodium lamp glare.In fact, it feels more like space interrupted by sound with the trio playing a long game, waiting until the moment is right to unleash whatever is coming. The scattered gunshots are the first warning, with the wooze and blurt of electronics mingling and aggravating, causing the drums to swat them away. This air of tension that they create is impressive, because a lot of the time it is drifting in preparation: a clattering of sounds, some not quite meditative drones. They litter the airwaves with a sense of searching, sniffing for clues, assessing the atmosphere or slowly unfurling a wonky rhythm, metallic and taut that merges with the flickering of lights, glittering on a jet-black surface.
The second piece, “South”, has slightly less of a malevolent air. But only just; it stretches for the surface a little more, but still the steam and shudder evokes dark factories and abandoned wharves, simmering with unseen tension as if something is trying to escape, bottled up in an inaccessible recess, a rusty cargo deck teeming with unbidden life. Geiger counter ticking and sulfurous bubbling creates an aura of decay and post-apocalyptic distress, into which an erratic beat stumbles and tries to prevail, but is lent on by an array of gouges and scree. Rhythms emerge briefly, but are then sucked back below deck, and out of the blue, a groove kicks up with a little nod to Faust with its absurd metallic proclamations and general mayhem. Something has finally broken free, and momentum picks with a slow synth line and the mournful siren song of the saxophone. It feels like an evolution, with the shifting sands of percussion creating a final sense of escape before the thing slowly recedes back into the murky ether.The improv three-piece has created an atmospheric and innovative masterpiece of skin crawling, light versus dark tension that you should approach with caution; but you should definitely approach. Discus scores again.
-Mr Olivetti-
