Disappears
Irreal

"How beautiful is IRREAL which yet eludes me! Let he who wishes be merry, for of the album there is no certainty"
(free and ungraceful adaptation of the immortal verses of Lorenzo de' Medici, "Triumph of Bacchus and Ariadne")

"Irreal" is among the albums I listened to the most in 2015, and, surprisingly, it's the one I understood the least. Every time the dark and indecipherable sound of the Chicago quartet drifts past my ears, I lose the few certainties I had from the previous listening. There are works that are already internalized on the first listen (and that perhaps by the fifth have already become tiresome), while there are others that, with each pass, reveal and highlight different "sound" angles and nuances.

"Irreal" is a slow post(experimental)rock drag supported by a precise/minimalist drum and deep, suffocating bass (writing DUB might be somewhat misleading, but.....), it's chant-like singing with a shamanic-tribal-hypnotic flavor (one could justifiably say, LIARS). The guitars are repetitive, rarefied, and reverberated, they are metallic shards that cyclically smash into the sonic magma. It is a foggy and majestic album, as arduous to tackle as, in sleep, running drunk on the beach pursued by harmless nightmares. It's a psychological, mutable, and enveloping work, giving neither points of reference nor landing.

And like in the legendary labyrinth of Knossos, one will find themselves in the shoes of Daedalus and Icarus, ready to take flight to escape the wrath of the Minotaur. It should be kept in mind, however, that the wings of pitch-black tar will lead you not to the sky, but to a gray, unreal stasis, to a tumultuous and claustrophobic temporary peace.

Let him who wishes be merry in the limbo, for of paradise (or hell) there is no certainty.