Boris with Michio Kurihara
Rainbow

Until 2'10" into the second track of the album, "Rainbow", I was already anticipating a blistering takedown for yet another effort from the hyper-prolific Japanese Boris (between collaborations with Sunn O))) and solo albums, their releases over the last two years are already hard to count).

The opening track "Rafflesia", in fact, seems like a poorly executed heavy version of some shoegaze group, and not one of the better ones. A musical direction that was already evident in their last official work, "Pink", which in itself was not very focused.

But from the aforementioned second track onwards, everything changes. Credit goes to the guitar of Michio Kurihara from compatriots White Heaven first, and then Ghost, which erupts streams of acidic lava on the intimate flow of "Rainbow". An album that thrives on these sudden guitar interventions, fantastic not so much for technical discussions, but for a distortion and a sound among the most acid in the vicinity. Kurihara seems almost like a standby automaton, awakened on command to devastate the synapses with his solo outbursts, often recorded two tones above everything else ("Starship Narrator"). Obviously, Boris also puts their influence into it, varying their style considerably from their usual artistic canvas, emphasizing a melodic and calm vein so far kept hidden. Examples include the gentle arpeggio of "My Rain" and the sanctity of "Shine".

Nonetheless, the songs where Kurihara reigns remain the best. The Hendrix-like "Sweet No. 1", a whirling boogie with "funkadelic" nuances punctuated by percussion with a distinctive metallic timbre. Or the devastating semi blues of "You Laughed Like A Water Mark", resembling a dark Motorpsycho piece, "She Used To Be A Twin", where Kurihara abuses his guitar until it produces a sound between the cry of an infant and the squeak of a rodent.

I like to imagine that Kurihara, at the end of the recording sessions, has returned to an ascetic standby mode in the studio, with his foot poised mid-air over the pedal, the six-string slung over his shoulder, and itching to pierce our eardrums at the first opportunity.