Microtonal rock and power duos are nothing new, but that hasn’t stopped Angine de Poitrine from breaking into the stratosphere as of late. While there might be a bit of an overblown sudden fanaticism to this band that feels borderline insulting to King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard and years of math rockers, that isn’t to say that this duo hasn’t earned their stripes, or dots in this case, to stand among their contemporaries. While the grip this band has had on the public needs to be studied, there’s something to the visually evocative nature of the music that sets the mind ablaze long before you see the costumes. There’s an immediate ripping tenacity to “Fabienk” that yanks you in like being sucked through a demented 90s wormhole effect, as it slowly disintegrates. And while that second half switches to a totally different, simpler run, the microtonal colours they bring out here keep it light and interesting. “Mata Zyklek” leans more into the Middle Eastern influence microtonal rock tends towards, but layers in just the right mix of grime and kinetic playing to never stay slotted into one idea for too long. Though it doesn’t soar quite as hard as the other tracks, “Sarniezz” is a textural wonderland that is covertly building itself until it explodes in a wave of sludge and grinding noise on your ears and mind’s eye. The metal roots merge with the Middle Eastern ones once again, albeit with way more violent whiplash on “Yor Zarad,” for a blistering riff tornado of a track.
As he’s cemented his return to his blues riffing roots with a fury as of late, it’s cool to see Jack White assuring fans that he’s not just going to repeat himself. Blending subtle edits, production that slowly warps and twists his song until the back-half is more twisted than the start, and a few instrumental choices to give fun hues to the sound, even this feels like White giving blues and rock an injection of dynamic fun. Though amid all the sounds and choices, it’s really White’s ecstatic energy that makes this so fun to listen to and a worthwhile recording in the first place. “Derecho Demonico” really makes that fuzzy, blocky riff sound punch out here, with such a stomping fury you’d swear Meg was on the drums for a second kicking along with him. And here, right as you think he’s sat too simple, the riffs fly with what sounds like a combination of his rotating amp head speaker and a few pedals summoned from a beautiful Lovecraftian dimension and brought to wreak destruction on our ears.
Though she could easily rest on her punk laurels and expand on her art from there, Katie Alice Greer is a long way from her days commanding righteous fire in Priests. Wielding sounds from across electronics, bedroom indie, experimental, and trip hop, and blending them through more punk ethos than punk aesthetics, Greer rises to become an artist in the truest sense of the word. There’s a floating, hazy, desert pop tone to “Expo ‘70,” as you wander through a storm with Greer, as she turns many edges of her voice into different ghosts amidst the desolation. Greer’s punk gets sent through a black hole on “Unglued” as she seemingly becomes slowly untethered from reality, and pulled apart in a fun meta-punk moment. One of the most wondrously unexpected musical choices is the trip-hop interlude on “West,” which sees Greer interjecting a bit of Portishead and Kim Gordon-like experimentation into her sound, keeping listeners on their toes. After the synths have time to open up, “Talk to Leslie” gains a powerful momentum, and expands in sonic ways akin to seeing a fully animated cartoon sprout from a few charming sketches.
Somewhere between Talking Heads, Devo, Oingo Boingo, and the madcap production of Thomas Dolby and Brian Eno, Formal Sppeedwear have firmly brought angular, unhinged rock pop back with a very specific niche in mind. With the popping and stopping vocals running up and down with such abandon, it’s no surprise this band has already played a British David Byrne event in Manchester. The comparison is too obvious to ignore, and honestly, given how much they play to the soul of Talking Heads while playing with dozens of other ideas, it’s a perfect commuting of their ideals without ripping them off. Even a bit of David Bowie’s “Fashion” crawls out of the guitar runs, making for fun stops and starts. And the use of tones here is a synesthete’s dream (or perhaps nightmare, depending on the inclination). If you love New Wave, this track is such a frantic burst of energy and colour, you’ll be doing that kooky dancing in no time listening to this band.
Few people in the pop singer world will go into their sound quite like Slayyyter does, as she lets loose tones that blend ideas of Justice and Sleigh Bells to just give you an idea of what to expect. It’s just a shame that with such a thoroughly produced sound, the writing and delivery can’t always rise to match the rest of the vision. After the mothership warms up, “Dance…” has a fully fleshed-out and deep, bassy sound to its world, creating an intoxicating space to play in that’s just a touch lacking in momentum and excitement. Meanwhile, there’s an immediate darkness and menacing charge to “Beat Up Chanel$” that leaves you bouncing in the fun, and chanting in Slayyyter’s celebration of excess with reckless abandon. “Crank” is the fully realized take on this sound, with a visceral drive to every inch of the grinding electronics and Slayyyter oscillating between fun sleaze and vocalizations that border on choking in the most fascinating sonic way. There’s a doomy touch to the cloud hanging over “Yes Goddd” that makes the whole thing feel like a call to the depths for unbridled hedonism in the best possible way.
For more music reviews from Owen Maxwell, click here.
