Johancolin: Type061.

May 25, 2010

Album bien mystérieux fait de murs denses de quasi silences. Crépitements et souffles sont semblables à des matières premières compactées en un monolithe à la fois dense et invisible. Le silence est presque palpable. Tintements, drones profonds et fields recordings forment une masse cotonneuse qui se meut en un lent et double mouvement d’implosion et d’explosion. Espace et temps se trouvent abolis et seul le souvenir des choses subsiste parvenant à peine à percer le voile épais de la mémoire. La réalité se dilate et se mue en une expérience d’ éternité. Baigner dans cette brume sonore et fantomatique est comme expérimenter le vide et l’absolu.

Cette expérience quasi métaphysique est saisissante surtout à fort volume. La pièce dans laquelle se trouve l’auditeur semble s’emplir des sons et devenir partie intégrante de la musique. On a des sentiments contradictoires d’être à la fois enterré sous une chape de plomb et de dériver dans un éther infini.

Your Eyes The Stars and Your Hands The Sea est un album splendide toujours en équilibre, à la limite du presque rien. Il rend l’inaudible audible et brouille l’échelle entre l’infiniment grand et l’infiniment petit. En écoute ci-dessous.


The packaging really doesn’t give much away, the outer wrapper featuring the slogan ‘the angels know no sin. Repeat’ in small black letters on a white background repeated endlessly. It’s hypnotic, almost brainwashing in effect. The next layer – a single sheet, in fact – is a stark yet dense black on white silhouette of a forest canopy in winter, bereft of leaves: it’s cold and borders on the abstract as the thick dark ink swirls. A further sheet contains a quotation, and the information ‘Stars and Lights: Together we Fall’ by Seasons (pre-din), and it is this which repeated in infinite permutations across the body of the CD, which is housed – finally – in a plain white card sleeve. This represents a near obsessive attention to detail, a cultivated image of abstraction and wilful obscurity. No band info, band photos, hell, no track-listing: it’s clear that Seasons (pre-din) are intent on fucking with our brains.

This carries through with complete parity into the music. The eight tracks, which in total run for half an hour, bleed together to form one cavernous whole. This is ambient music at its darkest, rumbling around the bowels of the earth and skulking in the darker corners of the pits of hell. It begins with deep, dark rumbles and drones, sliced through with occasional shards of feedback and just beneath it all is an unintelligible chatter of voices speaking in a mystical language, or in tongues. Other incidentals, such as panicked voices and heavy, dolorous chimes, enter the frame as the soundtrack to Armageddon builds. It goes on in this way for nine and a half minutes. It’s as scary as it is ace.

Throughout the nightmarish auditory experience that is ‘Stars and Lights: Together We Fall’ there’s considerable emphasis on low, rumbling bass frequencies: disquieting, unsettling fear notes (far too sparse and dissonant to be chords, that’s for sure) cast shadows, long and heavy, building layers of darkness upon darkness with increasing volume and intensity. The grating, scraping, rumbling of earthworks and atomic winds are unrelenting. The effect is claustrophobic, suffocating: sonic torture, that drills into your brain and shows no mercy. Powerful stuff.

Someone said recently that the film Human Centipede could not be judged as other films could. This album is not far off; doom-laden atmospherics, white noise, industrial clanking as of being inside a slow-moving washing machine, distant strings, lo-fi piano and what sounds like sewage trying to escape the plumbing under Satan’s second-best bathroom. The unaccountable air of claustrophobic menace and despair is focused around some choice samples – take the first track, where we hear some of the recording made at Jonestown. Others are hard to make out but are probably serial killers, or their victims. If you want to hear the sound of a deranged robot tuning into the depths of human depravity and despair, fill your boots. Just don’t tell me about it.

May 1, 2010