Rei Rea - "Tapeworm" - CDr - Crater Records - 2009
Situated within a screen-printed piece of cardstock featuring artwork from Rei Rea / Crater's own Christian Dube, this (also screenprinted) CD holds wonders throughout. At almost an hour long and with tracks ranging from just shy of five minutes to well over ten, this is truly a work to behold in its simple yet harrowing glory.
ARMY begins with a degenerative pulse, seeping into flourishing guitar notes that coincide with the flickering heavenly voices beneath. The sounds of an ascent to space-age realisation. While it holds this element throughout its ten (too short) minutes, there is an everchanging and flowing sound lying softly underneath the thematic wallowing, as if representing the cragged rivers of whatever planet this was plucked from.
FOLLY OF PAIN soaks up the blissed-out drones of its predecessor, following in suit with what I can only describe as a very watered-down sound; and not at all in a negative sense. Stereo modification rules the roost, overlapping jumbled, ethereal drones with fuzzy bass distortions, strings calling out to unseen forces. There is a sinister atmosphere within, one that did not reside in the beginning. Or perhaps one is just too entranced to notice the creeping sense of displacement before it is far too late.
FIREWELL comes in to turn up the heat, removing all of the excess moisture from the room. Faroff and downtempo beats tread hypnotically over a repeated bass line, distorted far past any sense of reality or recognition. The original melody (if it can be called that… let's say, malady) grows, feeding on the rising flames just a little while longer, collapsing in on itself and rebuilding its limbs anew. Perpetual motions of the slurred kind trawl through an endless procession of high notes beating low ones into a dried out submission, and hollow, robotic voices reign highly and rain heavily atop the weary, grain-soaked heads of this imaginative city's best and brightest. Is it possible to drown in a pit of fire? If your response is 'no', then this album has a lesson to teach.
SPACE MEMBER's ghostly apparitions come forth, the formerly breathing and the hollow souls alike abound in their numbers, seeking some sort of retribution. A processed bassline, conceivably not made up of notes at all, spreads itself along one long, transient drone, tagging oaks and pines along its way. Oh, are we in a forest now? Bleak, that. Howling winds whip through barren walls of snapping branches, taking fur and talon to the oncoming assault of nominal beauty and breathtaking ambiance, and yet not a single sound is to be heard beneath the raging storm.
THRONE OF PAPA takes on a new notion entirely, though not altogether abandoning its comfortable niche, with constantly and consistently ebbing (but never flowing) electronic drum beats threaded on top of watery airwave signals and furiously conscientious hightone drones. This verges almost on the nose of a metaphysical orgasm, with a courteous blow at the nether stomach every few seconds and the non-sweet promise of no release in sight. All of a sudden, our steady pattern is swooped from beneath us, and swells of recycled electro-garble come crashing down upon our heads, diving graciously into ARMO, which is entirely an exercise in its predecessor's opposite. A twin of deranged proportions, this piece too has the mystique of the build-up with no end, the cavern with no visible or touchable walls, and yet there is something quite very wrong here. Off tempo metallic clangs accompany and sweet are beaten to the path, and soft, malleable keys are plucked out over the droning maelstrom, accompanying the inharmonious symphony to its assumed grave. Not to be laid to rest just yet, it quickly makes bedfellows with GASP, the closing track, and by far the most beautiful of the lot, so how can you really lay blame. This is truly the picture frame to capture the blessed concrete Hell that Rei Rea creates; teetering on one edge whilst leaning casually on the other.
This album is as transient as it is stubborn enough to revolve and spin on its heel; as claustrophobic as it is expansive. This is pure beauty within aural form.
