Reviews

Twice a Man are not only one of Sweden’s first electronic acts; they are also one of the few bands that has bridged the gaps between New Wave, progressive rock and experimental music.

Founded as Cosmic Overdose by Dan Söderqvist and Karl Gasleben, the story goes that the band were asked to choose a less hippie-sounding name before opening for New Order. The promoter provided a list of suggested names, and they kept the one they chose for the show.

Their first releases as Twice a Man, Music for Girls (1982) and The Sound of a Goat in a Room (1983), fit neatly into a post-punk aesthetic. Songs like “Russian Tractors” incorporated found sound and synthetic drums, while “Goat III” floated in space like the love child of Gillian Gilbert and Steve Hillage. Twice a Man’s sound was sophisticated and adventurous, which secured their place as one of Sweden’s most influential electronic artists.

Fast forward twenty or so albums, jumping over excursions into music for theater and dancefloors, and we find the band On the Other Side of the Mirror. With Jocke Söderqvist joining the core duo, as he has for the past few releases, Twice a Man have found their optimal formation.

Dan Söderqvist’s vocals on “Breath” are instantly recognisable, but with a Cohen-esque purr as he recites his lines. The opening track is robust and spiked with majestic synths that signal the band’s intentions. It pays to spend time on sound design, and the mix is full of carefully wrought textures.

The craftsmanship continues on “Fireflies.” A diversion into a night garden, the song finds Söderqvist being carried along by waves of rhythm and detuned oscillators.

There are hints of psychedelia in “Rain of Shame,” but we are also in the presence of a force. It is a widescreen, high resolution view of the power of behind every false self. The title could be a reference to the dynamics of social media or a weather forecast for the disordered soul.

The energy mounts even more for “Naked,” which makes use of found sound and a heavy bass line; relaxing only momentarily before the tension returns. This is an album that is fully charged and optimised for 2020.

“Modern World” closes the album with the enquiry, “Are we raindrops in a desert field?” In these times of confinement and chaos, it is a fair question.

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]The Swedish artist, Niels Gordon, has released his second album – the first on vinyl. Land is released today on Lamour Records.

It comes only days after the death of Florian Schneider was revealed to the world; which is fitting, because Kraftwerk are one of Gordon’s biggest influences. Last year, Gordon created this cover version of “Europe Endless” for the podcast Blå måndag:

Another of Gordon’s influences is OMD, for whom he opened in 2018.

Cold War Night Life’s photographer, Krichan Wihlborg, took some time to sit with Gordon for an early listening session ahead of the new release, and returned with photos and an enthusiasm for the new record.

Now that he is releasing a new album, I take the opportunity to visit Niels Gordon in his studio, which lies a little outside of Gothenburg in Sweden.

When I arrive, he greets me warmly and invites me to his house in the woods. We go back to his studio. Once inside, it is a pure dream for anyone who likes electronic music. In the midst of all the synths, you also find a bass and a number of pedals.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with his music, Gordon creates music with old analogue synths and more modern technology.

Niels is called Niklas by his friends and has created music almost his entire life. He has played in many different constellations over the years, ranging from punk and country music to electronic music, and much more. For many years, he has created electronic music with several others and constantly nurtures the synth which he bought as a 12 year-old boy.

The music that Niklas makes now is electronic; reminiscent of what Tangerine Dream sounded like in the 80’s and 90’s. For those of us who love the analogue sounds, this is a pure dream to listen to. Sit down with a pair of good headphones or speakers and float away in wonderfully rich sound.

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In the days before they took to singing the obvious in iambic pentameter, the Pet Shop Boys had a good line in danceable poptronica. They knew how to combine soaring pads with bouncing basslines, drawing on Liza and Dusty for influence in the vocal lines.

Those days are gone, but a new generation of artists has absorbed their classic stylings. Julian & Marina have shown the way, but they are not alone.

Meet Francesca e Luigi, a duo from the Left Coast of Sweden. Jessica Brannefors and Martin Permer work a distinctly Italo angle, but with British DNA in their catchy electronic pop.

They have just released their first album, Disco Darkness, in the midst of a pandemic. The second track to emerge was a remix of their very first song, “Watch Me Dance Tonight,” and it shows them shimmering like the light from a disco ball. Brannefors’ vocals are as sweet as a bar of Marabou but as elegant as the first sip of Cristal. You will want to rewind to savour the ARP-infused bassline and uplifting chorus.

The album is not a million Swedish miles from Dubstar’s work, either. “Everyday in Love” finds Brannefors following in the path cut by Sarah Blackwood’s famous vocals. Love is a lonely place, but you will be in good company with Disco Darkness.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

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Alison Lewis (Photo: Simon Helm)

Zanias is back with two EPs. The project of Alison Lewis, who is also known for her work with Linea Aspera, Keluar and the Fleisch recording label, has given us some mind-expanding material, and it is a rich vein to be mined for intelligent and emotional electronics.

The ore collected on Extinction consists of hard bass lines, bubbling square waves, and intense vocals. The raw materials are molten by the energy of the dancefloor and tempered by Lewis’ hardline critique of climate destruction.

The title track drowns in pads in the middle, as if absorbed by the rising waters of a warming world. Lewis’ lyrics are unambiguous:

Who will be the last to die?

Who will see the final light

across the sky?

But the sun will rise again

without us.

Who will be the last to die?

Who will think the final thought

in the universe?

But the sun will rise again,

the ocean will swell and surge,

and the sun will rise again

without us.  

The second track, “Endling,” is infused with acid and styled with distress. A song for the last of the species, it was recorded with Alex Aker and features a heavily processed sample from an Eastern Whipbird, recorded in Australia.

“Carbon” features Greta Thunberg, but you need to lace up your dancing boots to put it all in context. Lewis’ vocals flow through the forest of beats like the scent of a guide to the noses of animals.

“(There Is No) Mothership” closes the EP. It begins with the warped synthetic sounds of fried circuitry, which blend with the organic textures of Zania’s intonations. It is as other-worldly as the reaches of space or the bottom of the sea.

The material from which Harmaline is crafted is more organic. The second EP is inspired by Lewis’ search for introspection and understanding, which included experiencing ego death through an ayahuasca ritual.

The title track, “Harmaline,” leads down the world music path hewn by Dead Can Dance. The jungle is slashed by a sharp bass line, while Alison Lewis cuts her way out of a dying relationship. Made on a laptop while visiting France, the vocals speak to the depths of her internal pain. The lyrics are clear:

To have no self, to be reborn:

cast me in gold, put me in the ground.

To face this truth, to become undone:

break me with stone, put me in the ground. 

Where do you go when you’ve seen it all?

What’s left to learn when you’ve touched the void? 

We are alone, we are the last of us.

“Limerence” is about a crush Lewis had on a friend that she resisted. We can’t help the feelings, sometimes, but we don’t have to act on them or feel regret for not taking opportunities

The roots of “Excision,” a demo from 2019, are a poem posted to a friend’s Facebook wall and Lewis’ need to grow away from her suffocating relationship. A line from the poem, “galaxies bloom apart,” stuck with her and became a way to explain the need for people to follow their own directions.

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[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Euthymia is a feeling of stability and balance. In philosophy, it also refers to a sense of authenticity and integrity.

The title of Pieces of Juno’s latest album is fitting. It is the final installment of the series that included Kalopsia (the delusion of things being more beautiful than they are), Tacenda (things that are best left unsaid) and Metanoia (a fundamental change of mind). Euthymia completes the cycle with a sense of presence in the flow of things.

There are traces of jazz and pop in the mix, but Euthymia is an experimental album. Juno, herself, refers to the style as Northern Noir; and the sounds certainly move like the branches of birch trees in the breeze, waving in patterns that are entrancing and centering.

“Waking Divine” winds with reverb in the way that Harold Budd’s keyboards used to, while strings resonate like wind chimes. Juno’s voice drifts with the lightness of vapour between them. It fits as a companion piece to “I/O,” which has the subtle touch of the lightest kiss on the back of your neck. You feel this material through the teasing of your cilia before it is processed in your mind.

“Needing” starts with a touch of Tom Waits, but evolves quickly into classic Pieces of Juno. “Let things flow, let it go,” she sings, and the shuffling, rhythmic loop of life continues to spin. The philosophical element of Juno’s work provides coherence, but it also leads to beautiful results.

The entreaty to “Wake Me Up” comes on one the most structured of these songs. It’s a simple request, but loaded with epic consequences.

Open your third eye and see; open your ears and feel.

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[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]LAND WITHOUT GOD
IRISH CULTURAL CENTRE
LONDON, 31 JANUARY 2020

LAU NAU & VILE ELECTRODES
CECIL SHARP HOUSE
LONDON, 1 FEBRUARY 2020

The film, Land Without God, screened in London for the first time on Brexit night. The Irish Cultural Centre became a refuge for those still able to claim EU citizenship and those about to be stripped of it. Both groups were exposed to a tale of trauma and identity that overshadowed the “independence” party in Westminster.

Built around the story of Mannix Flynn, an Irish politician, Land Without God reveals his family’s experiences of abuse at the hands of the Irish state and the Roman Catholic Church. No saints, the Flynn family were not just demonised by educators, police and priests; they were raped by them, beaten by them, ripped from their families and ultimately stonewalled by them. Those who spoke about justice or preached it were the ones who most vigorously and selfishly denied it. The accounts of Flynn and his relatives are harrowing, but not unique among the poorer classes crushed under the weight of Ireland’s colonial legacy.

The film is a poem in three layers: Flynn’s words, Lotta Petronella’s cinematography and Laura Naukkarinen’s music combine in a mist of agony that hovers over the island’s almost unimaginable beauty. Directed by Flynn, Petronella and Maebhdh McManon, the source material is mainly derived from interviews Flynn conducted with his family members, many of whom spent time in Ireland’s institutions to pay for the original sin of their family name. It is infused with the sounds of Flynn interacting with the spaces he suffered in, as well as a haunting and impressive soundtrack from Naukkarinen.

The next evening, Naukkarinen performed some of the material from the score as Lau Nau. It lost none of its emotional strength in live performance; indeed, the deft and delicate touch she applied brought some of the audience at Cecil Sharp House to tears. The beauty of Lau Nau’s songs is unrivaled in modern experimental music, and it is clear why she was commissioned to compose for the film: the sounds of songs like “The Saints” are stretched and filtered until they betray such fragility that they would simply break apart in the hands of less sensitive artists.

Comparisons to Lisa Gerrard were made, and the appeal to fans of many 4AD releases could be seen, but Lau Nau’s vocals in songs like “Unessa” (from Poseidon) lack the Dead Can Dance singer’s bombasity. Her songwriting, infused with the traditional styles of her native Finland, is restrained and intimate. Another track lifted from Poseidon, “Sorbuspuun alla,” had listeners marveling at her ethereal treatment – every child should have a mother who can sing to them with such care and character.

Lau Nau’s vocals were accompanied by sounds generated or processed through her suitcase modular synthesizer. Only days before, she had been in Stockholm’s EMS studios, making use of a room-sized set-up, but this box of tricks was sufficient to demonstrate the potential of electricity and underline the organic beauty of Lau Nau’s singing.

The modular theme was embraced by the other act on the bill. Vile Electrodes remain Britain’s best electronic duo, but they are as well known for their technical wizardy as for the strength and tone of Jane Caley’s vocals. The challenge they took up was to build a set using modular kit, so it was a good thing that the UK had not diverged from the Eurorack standard in a fit of post-Brexit pique.

Were they not sitting in front of a screen that allowed the audience to see their hands, the Viles would have looked for all the world like two air traffic controllers diverting flights over Sussex. The slow, growing oscillations of their instruments yielded synthetic patterns that took shape before dissipating like vapour trails. Power pylons were serenaded and satellites tracked. Snow fell, and each pulse was as unique as the last.

As their hands swapped wires and swept dials, each acted as a living Tesla coil; and the looks that flashed between Caley and Martin Swan were the code that replaced the relative safety of MIDI. It was a high-wire act on high-voltage equipment, walking a path between danger and beauty. In the world of modular equipment, there cannot be one without the other.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]