Cave In
White Silence

THE REVIEW

A devastating machine cannot remain inactive for too long. And when it returns, when it truly returns, it makes itself heard. Thus, the monster of Stephen Brodsky and Caleb Scofield awakens from a slumber, albeit active, that has lasted too long.

And the awakening is a barrage, guitars like razor blades embedded in the face, the beast screams from the depths of the earth, a silence dirty with burning rust, "White Silence" is vitriol and bleach, synthchitarreurlaeodio, and the scream is clear, it calls for blood "tracking the taste of warm blood," words that regenerate and culminate in white noises, ready for the gunshot? "Serpents"(as well as "Vicious Circles") is post-apocalyptic noise, a mad synth running alongside trains hurtling toward nowhere, guitars and drums pumping with adrenaline, crust'n'roll that kills, the voice is pure hate, there is no escape.

But poetry hides behind a wall of virulent impurities, "Sing My Loves", in the first part, places feedback at the edge of sludge, a pachydermic march, Melvinsian lineage rhythms, cries against the enemies, then a light, the clear voice, like water in a muddy stream, a guitar breaks away and takes flight, and it's 3 minutes of pure crystal. And then the advent of the Radiohead. Feel free to disagree, but I couldn't care less, "Heartbrakes, Earthquakes" is a child of the Albion infected by Thom Yorke and company, poetry among the brambles, bordering on Beatlesque, and thus unfolds the "second part" of the album, between seventies guitars and echoes from submerged, distant worlds, "psychedelia takes all your heads away".

"This is a cave in, I said I'd stay", someone once said.