Music:
Member Since: 09/11/2006
Band Website: www.tenebrous.tv
Band Members:
Sounds Like: Imagine, if you will, a large, wet, thick, black, sticky, smelly, damp squelch; the kind that were it to land on your head, it'd slowly work its way down your skull, drip into your eyes, fill up your nostrils and force itself into your mouth. It'd slip down your throat, and into your stomach, before descending down your whole body, encasing your arms to your sides and forcing your fingers and legs together.This is how this record makes me feel. Light-hearted it ain't.Gerry Mitchell is a Scottish poet, with a thick accent, a deep vocal, and an ability to let rip a monstrously loud and controlled shout (check the track 'Agin Nature'). Not singing. Shouting. His writings are dark and angry.He tells tales of hatred for money, of narcotics, of terrifying dream-thoughts (“the walls are gnashing at my throat... Walking in the ruins of my own nightmareâ€), of man's imagined brutality (“there's been some fucked up shit through the ages, dear women covered in animal fat and beaten to death by dwarvesâ€) and of his general “befuddlement†with his own existence.He's collaborated with musicians before (see: Scalpel Slice by Gerry Mitchell and Little Sparta), but nothing like this. This outing is performed atop the non-too-chirpy output of Tenebrous, the band of cult photographer-cum-publisher Steve Gullick. Their music is minimal, stretched and slow. They use solitary cymbals and string instruments, violin mainly, that sound like they've been rusting in a shed for ages. They make no effort whatsoever to play music in a major key, and they are deeply affecting.The combination of the two is difficult. It's a real mood dictator - testament to its power, of course. But it gives me a headache man, and makes me remember times when I've been properly sad. It sounds like a big, fuck-off depression.It makes me think of horror movies, and pitch black rooms with two occupants only: myself and sheer terror. It runs around the room like some weird goblin (sheer terror that is, I've given it a shape see) and it's a torture that will only end if you can catch it; but you can't, because it's on fire, and tiny, and moving at vast speeds, and I am weak and have big, clumsy hands that move slowly around the room, always one step behind.It's the cold turkey scene in Trainspotting. It's the soundtrack to the worst fucking nightmare you have ever had and ever will have, is what it is. Terrifying, astonishing, not for the faint hearted, but well worth a go, just to see how you handle it.I won't be listening to this anytime soon, I need to heal, but I'd definitely recommend it.Tom Howard/ Play Louderreviewed on 19 Apr 2007
Record Label: fire records
Type of Label: Indie