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Introduction: the "two" in the title means that there is also an English Primitive one. These are records that are part of a single project and have the same texture and consistency. I review the second one because it's the first I listened to, and also the one that sparked my affection. Then, to tell the truth, there's another reason, and it's that the track that closes the album sets to music the verses of a poet. And I am quite sensitive to poets.
I remember the musical past of the brave David Lance Callahan with the project Moonshake, an excellent mixture of post-punk and kraut sounds. Stuff that, listening, made you think: wow, old John Lydon managed to realize the ancient dream! What dream? Well, excuse me, even children know it! To be the new Damo Suzuki and sing with the Can. Other than Public Image, forget the Sex Pistols!
This album, however, is another matter, to the point that a scribe compared it to Let England Shake by my beloved Polly. At that moment, I pricked up my ears and immediately thought: come on, really, her, Pj, and this album, something that, even searching for a thousand years, you would never find a mold and template, since the dear girl has hidden them who knows where. But then, after the due listening, I would say that it's not at all a whimsy idea. Both works hover around a very personal folk, hers ethereal and like crystal, his instead more rough and visceral.
In any case, welcome the strength of certain gutsy folk, especially if crossed by electric discharges and adventurous sounds. It's not everyone who can be classic and simultaneously extravagant, rough yes, but also refined and, in all this, bring to life songs that flow smoothly in a middle land between the mystical and the concrete. Almost like that cover where the characters of a storyteller are blown onto the windows of a church and everything is vivid and speaking. Here then is the invisible man, here is the scapegoat à la Pennac, here are the sycophants of power. And, when it decides to be pure folk, here is the rose on the tomb of the plague victim.
Finally, "the mind-forged manacles" and "the marks of weakness and of woe." What do you say, are your ears ringing? And I believe it, this is William Blake, great poet and guiding spirit of our David, which means that, even if you can see "the heaven in a wild flower," the world is still quite crappy.
As for the formula, I'll leave you with that of the aforementioned scribe, namely: "an electric and psychedelic vein that thickens the mélange of folk, drone, afrobeat." I add of my own the hypnotic strength and a few ballads that do good for the heart.
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