Check the CD is playing exactly twenty-three times: Fragile Self have released their second studio album. OCD explores themes of subconscious drives across eight tracks laden with tension and brooding.
Fragile Self is a package deal: as graphic designers, Jonathan Barnbrook and Anil Aykan have gone all-out with the photography, lettering, and videos that accompany the music. The album’s logo reduces the title to two circles; the second bifurcated to make C and D shapes. It also resembles the hemispheres of the brain as an icon. This attention to detail extends to the packaging of the limited edition CD, which includes temporary tattoos, so that you can contemplate the skin as barrier at home.
With their focus on the subconscious mind and shadow work, the huband-and-wife duo continue to explore psychological themes. The set opens with “Existence against Existence,” which features a hypnotic bass groove and Aykan’s subtle, sensual whispers. It is ASMR for Jungians.
On “Only Bodies Have Pain,” a sonic grid is decorated with metallic sounds, distortions from modular tools, and layered vocals. The result is disturbing techno lifted from the dark rooms of Berghain. The title may be a reference to the extraordinary story of Tony Cicoria, who developed a need to play piano after he was struck by lightning. He only knew he was in his body on the logic of the song’s title.
“Nothing to Excess” is a reasonable motto. The bass line has Tuxedomoon’s knowing quality, while the synths are suggestive of Barnbrook’s respect for John Foxx’s Metamatic.
“Whom I Haunt” launches with electro-industrial sounds. The palette is picked up on “Saboteur,” as an insistent bass creates tension that is resolved only through the introduction of distortion and Aykan’s warnings of a distant affair.
“Pure O,” in the language of psychologists, refers to a version of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that is characterised by dark, intrusive thoughts. Here, it is involves industrial rhythms and Aykan’s intonations treated with yards of reverb to shake your inner-mind.
“Notes from Underground,” with its Dostoyevskian title, feeds existential self-doubt over the spine of the bass line. “I am a sick man” run the lyrics. It is music to crash your Tesla to.
“Lend Yourself to Others” resembles, if you need a comparison, Liars during the phase when they were leaning into Krautrock under Daniel Miller’s tutelage. It is a dance track for the defrocked, in which the North London duo approximate Chris & Cosey’s CTI singles.
“In Absentia” wraps the album with a descent into the lower depths of the mind. Aykan’s voice accompanies and guides you on a journey into nothingness via anxiety and despair. Take comfort, though, from the certain knowledge that only bodies feel pain.