...it’s the ideal soundtrack for ray-gun fire and ectoplasm goo. It’s what Jules Verne, E.T, ewoks and those floaty Matrix guys listen to after the sci-fi AGM.
This is a very urban record, post post-industrial, sleek, hinting at the impersonal, maybe quietly taking the mick out of all those well managed, astute modern lifestyles.
Despite the long jams and proggy reference points, it’s a supremely easy record to get along with, easy to drop in to, as and when.
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! Whoa Nelly!
Well, it’s bang, crash, slap, tickle, bounce, bop, crash, bang, wallop, growl all the way!
Lush and bright and full of life
It’s clear that, in personal terms at least, the wheels simply fell off his wagon
Cosmic Dead do a simple thing, and in dong that simple thing, they don’t stop. There are 4 tracks, each clocking in around 15 minutes and believe me you will get sucked into a maelstrom and spat out the other side, like a wet pizza box lying in the gutter.
Tension runs through this record like fire in bush land. And although the LP is, for the most part, a set of quiet tracks, that shouldn’t put you off as the emotional temperature is set high.
It’s a difficult LP to describe really. An absolute whirl of interlocking sounds textures and tempos, you could be mistaken for thinking that the master tape got warped in the sun.
As ever with Howl in the Typewriter you never know what you’re going to get. Like calypso tracks of yore, the songs are often about anything. Though there’s an eccentricity that hints towards darker, more brittle mental states throughout his work it’s fun, somehow…
Space is the first thing you feel more than anything: it’s an outdoors sound, big sweeping plains of synth, balanced against vicious, coruscating stabs and blurts of beat, elements that are not that far away from the sonic outrages Conny Schnitzler used to knock out.
But this is a record that documents the here and now; you can feel the rain whacking the tarmac as you walk past the carpet warehouse on your way to the 24 hour garage for your pie. It’s grim.
There’s a lot of urban soul boy in this sound – it’s got an element of confession there that stops it from just being one of those electronica records that are initially ok but get slightly wearisome after a few spins.
Yet again the patience of their sound is something you can’t ignore. It’s most noticeable with the last three tracks, Plateau Parts I-III - tracks that are less metal, more Klaus Schultze..
Fuck me this record is unbelievably good. The mad, green-sapped beauty of this Cosmicke rumble can drive a man to drink or at least, a couple more biscuits with his brew.
Take my word for it this is a classic, regardless of what side of the political and artistic spectrum you’re on.
You get the feeling that there are two forces at play throughout the record, a desire to distil the absolute essence of what is so beautiful about Middle Eastern music, balanced against a willingness to completely fuck about with its structures by introducing new and alien elements.
No, this record’s got its own inherent, slightly psychedelic power to it: this certainly seems to be the most complete LP in terms of outlook; (maybe the idea of basing the idea for the record round a film helped both concentrate minds and allow a new, unifying force into proceedings).