‘Feeding People aren’t exactly Children of the Revolution, nor would they profess to be. They most probably couldn’t care less. Though in so nonchalantly compromising on coherence, Island Universe consequently lacks conviction and, ultimately, innovation.’
Posts tagged PJ Harvey.
‘Though he may be most fabled for his immaculate collaborative work alongside a certain PJ Harvey, there’s far more to John Parish than that which is most likely to first meet the ear. Whether that be A Woman A Man Walked By or his involvement in Polly Jean’s quiver-inducing opus thus far, Let England Shake, his is a discography worth going above and beyond with, and fully immersing yourself in. Though it’s the eyes as well as the ears to which Parish’s work so unerringly appeals, given his longstanding entanglement in the celluloid reels of film and some of his most accomplished compositions have come about when he’s been scoring this or that. Forthcoming Thrill Jockey release Screenplay, however, isn’t a soundtrack per se, in that it’s not a necessarily cohesive whole, but instead a compilation of works previously pieced together for various features. LBS End Titles – the track to sprawl itself out as the credits crawl across Patrice Toye’s 2012 movie Little Black Spiders – serves as an archetypal exemplar of understated splendour; of restrained grandeur. And as warped electronics ebb away to leave a residual refrain concerning tumbling keys and muted brass, vivid images begin to cloud your vision. It thus does as all effectual sonic accompaniments ought, as it whisks your every sense away with its faint, flighty presence.’
Screenplay is anticipated April 15th.
‘They make for an obdurate couple, do The Ropes: they claim to hail from Antarctica’s Halley Research Station, whilst the standout from their newly released ‘pay what you like’ Post-entertainment LP is entitled Hey Faggot. And though the beyond unorthodox boy/ girl duo haven’t baptised it thus in corroboration of a reticent homophobia or anything, it makes for an irrefutably traumatised listen – a little like the Gainsbourg weird-out Charlotte For Ever had Serge a predilection for sordidly incestuous ulterior motives and such. Instead, the overriding message of Hey Faggot is that “no one’s in love” – a timely reminder of the individual’s ultimate irrelevance, even on Valentine’s Day of all days – which is swept up in a compellingly vile swell of ramshackle acoustics and wayward cymbals. Like a rickety tug buffeted about by a restive ocean, it’s absolutely ruinous. “Do I find the devil in everything/ Or does the devil find me?” Sharon Shy ominously sighs as though a cadaverous PJ Harvey, ahead of a hellish denouement during which she recurs “I fall and hit my head” as though concussed, having been shoved down a darkened stairwell by a supposed loved one. Terrifying, in that most sadistically intriguing of senses.’
‘Whilst Merilahti may oft be classed with PJ and Persson and Siouxsie Sioux and her heroine Björk – certainly at points her vocals do sound quite redolent of each of the aforesaid – she ought to be added and not merely analogised to this sequence of exceptional vocalists.’