Trupa Trupa—I’ll Find

Trupa Trupa are one of the most earnest and hard-working bands currently working. It’s no wonder frontman Grzegorz Kwiatkowski is an avowed Werner Herzog fan; after all, he’s heading a band who are practicing acolytes of the German director’s artistic aspirationalism.

This EP’s opening track, ‘Fitzcarraldo’, takes its name from the Herzog film which most clearly embodies this attitude—the story of a visionary who, against accusations of folly, hauls his steamer over a steep Peruvian hill to clear a meander in the Amazon river. It’s a film which explores ambition’s many costs, but overall champions the supreme value of integrity and vision. Trupa Trupa strive in Fitzcarraldo’s uncompromising, unapologetic shadow. On this track they make a similar glittering bid for ascension. We climb the hill with them, near wordless, dragging the dirge of a bad day behind.

It’s a newly warm sound for the band—the shimmer and the intimacy of recordings shines through in unprecedented clarity. ‘End of the Line’ feels devotional—even romantic—and positions a ceaseless chant of its title as a promise, rather than a curse. We are directed to focus on the pleasure of the journey, to fuzz and forget the finality of our destination.

‘Invisible Door’ is a psychedelic romp, even going so far as to incorporate flanged vocals and a flute line. It’s not pastiche, though, incorporating these potentially goofy elements with distinction and tact. It’s got the same energy as when Fever Ray whipped out the panpipes on her self-titled debut album. It’s a luminous track, dappled by a canopy of punchy bass; something altogether more sincere than the glorified car-advert-music of “expensive sounding” neo-psych posers like Tame Impala.

‘I’ll Find’ rounds things off—a Neu!-style jam which retains its peers’ warmth but injects the EP with grand scale. It’s a shimmer of sweet drones, melding in harmonies; a lush convoy which briefly passes light through a bleak evening. This sensory rush is I’ll Find in a microcosm: a beautiful, bewildering visit from silent strangers. I’ll Find is Trupa Trupa’s least lyrical release—but it’s also one of their most poetic.

I’ll Find is available for purchase and streaming here.

Words: Andrew O’Keefe

Stian Westerhus—Redundance

Even the most unpredictable artists tangle with the weight of expectation. Stian Westerhus is no exception: having cut his teeth in experimental guitar composition, Westerhus’ ventures have since plumbed more eclectic depths. This broadened scope leaves commentators impotent; scrabbling to cram something amorphous and multi-faceted back in that neat “experimental guitar” box. But Redundance is the latest in a line of releases which affirm Westerhus as someone who can’t really be described in simple terms.

It this all makes Redundance sound like it’s going to be some kind of dadaist, Trout Mask-esque mess of errant ideas, it’s not. Simple until it’s subjected to analysis, Redundance is an album as easy to enjoy as it can be difficult to parse. In short, it volleys back any interest you give, and benefits rigorous attention as generously as casual listening.

First-half track ‘Verona’ is as freely enjoyable and funky as something Bombay Bicycle Club or Hot Chip would release—but with a fire to its squelchy instrumentation neither band would dare to attempt. It also finds Westerhus channelling David Byrne with some charmingly eccentric vocals. It embodies the appealing swagger of Redundance; how every minute of its runtime is elevated by a confident inflection. Westerhus is living proof that not everyone can pull this shit off—and he carries offbeat choices on his own singular and irresitable appeal.

Tracks on Redundance regularly sprawl across seven or eight minutes—another manifestation of Westerhus’ confidence—but never feel over-extended, or even long. Title track ‘Redundance’ is as good an example of this as any. It has a lolling, soporific power; the heaviness and inexorable downward trajectory of sleep paralysis.

Across the board, Westerhus’ ideas are clearly established, and given the exact amount of time they need to develop. If anything, this album could have benefitted from a patience-tester; some kind of massive slog to emphasise the muscularity of its soundscaping and roll deeper into its own trance. But that’s probably just the masochist in me talking. As is, Redundance offers something for everyone—whether they be headphone-set introspectives or the most casual of listeners. For something no one can really describe, Redundance sure has some broad appeal.

Redundance is available for purchase here.

Words: Andrew O’Keefe

Sightless Pit—Grave of a Dog

Sightless Pit are as close to a supergroup as their field will allow. Comprising Lee Buford (The Body), Kristin Hayter (LINGUA IGNOTA), and Dylan Walker (Full of Hell), the band have crafted a document of abjection and hopelessness which combines and solidifies their respective strengths. It comes at the tail of two years of on/off studio time during which the artists have tinkered, tweaked, recorded and assembled stems. The rarity with which they shared studio space is impossible to hear on this record—something cohesive, beautifully engineered and, in its own way, gratifyingly restrained.

The album’s ace-in-the-hole is Hayter—an industrial/noise artist who emerged and shot to relative stardom in a very short span of time, and represents the very best of what the genres can currently achieve. Her compositional input and staggering voice elevate the material on Grave of a Dog to operatic status; and its disruption and disentegration (such as at the end of ‘The Ocean of Mercy’) serve to pull the ear even more sympathetically to Buford and Walker’s glitchier, crunchier sound.

Buford’s influence is particularly notable: a relentless, mechanical heartbeat of distorted drums which pushes forward like a dynamo, inflates the album with pressure, and gives it brittle, burning life. But no one element is more valuable than the other here. It is an album which could only have been made by these three collaborators.

The material presented on Grave of a Dog is profoundly negative—but the accompanying experiential thrill tips it into something affirmational. Like a liberation through loss, this album reaches such extremity, and throws life into such stark relief, that everything feels much simpler under its shadow.

Grave of a Dog is available for purchase and streaming here.

Words: Andrew O’Keefe