As ever, it is packed with all kinds of weirdness, Eastern-European-meets-Latin-American fusion, social commentary, and anthems to freedom fighters worldwide. Drawing inspiration also from the current war in Ukraine, the native country of frontman Eugene Hutz, Gogol Bordello are back with a vengeance.
Solidaritine is, immediately, notably heavier than the band’s previous offering, marking a slight return to the folk-punk fusion that catapulted the band to success; yet lyrically, Hutz still manages to deliver a message of unity and togetherness, even in wartime, during opener “Shot of Solidaritine”. “Focus Coin” quickly follows, a catchy and upbeat song about the world running rampant with unfounded conspiracy theories, which also happened to be the first single released from the album – and one of the more memorable new songs debuted on the band’s summer European tour earlier this year.
After last year’s single ‘Hypa Hypa’ blessed the ears of everyone who still pines after the days of 00s synth metal, Electric Callboy have been inescapable. This truly was their international breakthrough, leaving those in the know ecstatic for the arrival of Tekkno, which drops this week. However, it might not be what fans of their earlier sound – or even just ‘Hypa Hypa’ – are expecting.
Previous albums (which were released under the former name of Eskimo Callboy) have always had a light-hearted edge, such as the track ‘Transilvanian Cunthunger’ from their debut album Bury Me In Vegas (2012) to the self-indulgent ‘VIP’ on The Scene (2017). Their earlier work can easily be compared to that of Asking Alexandria and Motionless In White – undisputable metalcore with electronic enhancements and some absurd lyrics alongside the more poignant. In comparison to these many albums and EPs, the sixth full-length Tekkno is all about the harmlessly absurd.
Tekkno sees Electric Callboy enter a new era; one of wigs, aerobics, unique pigeon moves, glimpses of a worldwide music competition, new vocalist Nico Sallach and a very unexpected genre shift. In short, it’s a celebration of Europop and everything flamboyant that comes along with it.
Lyrically, the six-piece have embraced the frivolous stereotype of Europop, made very clear in the tracks ‘Arrow of Love’ and ‘Tekkno Train’. ‘Arrow of Love’ is a cheesy electronica party anthem stating “I’m gonna give my heart to everyone around, I’m gonna share my love with everyone”, jumping from heavy metalcore riffs to a high tuned staccatoed synth section. Similarly, the latter track has a very similar vibe and beats to ‘Hypa Hypa’ but the sexual, tongue-in-cheek lyrics such as “Sweaty, sweaty, you make my spaghetti ready, heat up the sauce, it’s a dinner for one” and 69 references are mocking cringy oversexualisation found in the pop industry.
Following in the footsteps of pre-pandemic albums The Satanist and I loved You At Your Darkest, Behemoth continue to redefine what it means to be an extreme black metal band. Fittingly, Opvs Contra Natvram – meaning to go against the current – continues to push boundaries and insight unrest against the status quo all whilst acting in part as the soundtrack to our own impending armageddon.
To begin the audio assault, ‘Post God Nirvana’ provides eerie strings, pounding war drums and neo-folk chants amid buzzing guitars and Behemoth’s mastermind, Nergal’s unmistakable howls. “We worship the devil, we hail the beast.” he screams – as if we didn’t know already. What follows is the instantaneous plunge into chaos and brutality. ‘Malaria Vulgata’ and ‘Thy Becoming Eternal’ are masterclasses in how full blown aggression can still emanate elements of beauty and grandeur. The latter more so with its enormous ending, one of the most stand-out moments on the album.
Whilst much of the album moves between sheer ferocity and plodding, head-nodding or galloping rhythms, one thing is apparent and that’s the level of musicianship on this record, the drums in particular, taking charge on numerous occasions. ‘Disinheritance’ and ‘Once Upon A Pale Horse’ being prime examples.
After all, given their unique formation, it wouldn’t be a crime to assume that the aforementioned record was a one time offering from a band formed from circumstance. In the years of silence that followed their debut it was easy to presume the band was done, dusted and nothing more but a brilliant albeit quick flash in the vast pan that is the scene – especially with vocalist Geoff Rickly returning to his primary band Thursday. Lo and behold though, for after faint whisperings of productivity No Devotion are back after seven years with their second release No Oblivion. Is it a worthy successor of Permanence? Well that’s going to a subject of fierce debate in the weeks to come, especially given it’s singular and narrow focus on drab majesty.
Whereas the group’s debut was an electronic-tinged romp through danceable melancholia, No Oblivion is very much a tonal shift in stylings. In contrary to the jittery New Order romanticism abundant in Permanence, No Oblivion is very much a record of dreary ennui expressed via monochromatic synthetic soundscapes. It’s not entirely surprising given the band’s utilisation of such bleak textures and despondent pacing in the past, but what is unexpected is how apathetic despair is the only emotion to be found within the eight songs that form the record. The profoundly gloomy ‘Starlings’ and following title track wastes no time whatsoever in establishing such a fact. As minimalist synths swell and surf amongst Rickly’s drowned, morose vocals, one is dragged down into the cold depths of despondency that No Oblivion bathes within.
Though of course, No Devotion has been a conduit for Rickly’s depression and heartbreak since it’s inception. That much has always been obvious. But what separates this record from it’s predecessor is just how profound and blanketing this sense of despair is. Long gone is the danceable and chemical indigence from years prior, with the allegories on depression now profound within the band’s instrumentation as well as Rickly’s direct lyricism. This may sound too overt and intense – and it will be for some – but the way this potent, profound misery is articulated is brilliantly composed and infectious on an emotional level.
Arising to prominence with the release of their second LP Death Spells, the Arizona quartet have long opted to follow a more esoteric sound in comparison to many of their peers chasing more punishing pastures. Yet, despite Death Spells delivering less aural abuse than acts such as Deafheaven, Envy and Alcest for example, the record was still one of intensity, albeit in a more expansive and majestic nature. Death Spells was, and still is, a record of delicate nuance, one that lingers to-and-fro periods of dusked stillness and pain stricken devastation in a most that’s organic, dynamic but far from discordant. Dimensional Bleed, the successor to Death Spells, is a continuation of such stylings that see’s Holy Fawn only traveling further into the mirage of atmosphere that it’s predecessors conjured.
Inspired by the multiverse concept, Dimensional Bleed – like it’s namesake implies – takes subtle influence from the concept that multiple dimensions could intersect into one another, bleeding their alien contents into each respective timeline. It’s a topic ripped right out the annuals of pop culture yes, but the way in which this beautiful record navigates such a theme is far from conventional and overt though, with such a matter being expressed via the mystical musicianship binding the record. Whilst the ‘metalgaze’ sound has typically been executed by intertwining two unique textures together, Dimensional Bleed accomplishes this sound by organically bleeding two juxtaposing sounds together into a singular musical twine. The unison of ambient post rock, metal and shoegaze here is not one of easy chemistry, but one of arcane alchemy. The end result is something that’s familiar yet almost otherworldly, an offering from the very laylines of genre itself delivered with painfully human emotion.
Part concept album, part self-therapy, guitarist and vocalist Ben Jorgensen has had the idea for The Rain Museum since way back in 2007. It was originally supposed to be a followup and complimentary piece to Smile For Them but the band’s label at the time encouraged them to move in a different direction. This ultimately led to friction and dissolution amongst the band and their untimely breakup in 2009.
During the pandemic, Jorgensen revisited the idea and, while going through a painful marriage breakup, wove in some of his own personal emotions as part of a healing process that ultimately elevated the project by lending it a more relatable quality. The overall concept storyline itself is an interesting one. Set in the future in a post-apocalyptic world where weather no longer exists on the planet, residents of Earth flock to a museum (the titular ‘Rain Museum’) which is filled with relics from humanity’s past. At the end of the story, they choose to die there instead of face the depressing realities of their own world. The fable exists as a little lesson to not get too stuck on the past and to exist in the now, but perhaps its also warning us not to let our world get to that kind of state in the future either. Regardless, you don’t need the backstory to enjoy and appreciate the record, but it helps.
Opening with the title track, ‘The Rain Museum’ really sets the scene. Like a dramatic pre-credit sequence that opens up the action and drags you into the world of the movie, this track has all the theatrics of a full cinematic experience. It’s fully instrumental. Starting with delicate piano it’s perhaps not the beginning you might have expected, but then it slowly expands and gets slightly heavier towards the end. Close your eyes and imagine that post-apocalyptic world for a moment.
