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THE REVIEW
Breadcrumb Trail, Nosferatu Man, Don Aman, Washer, For Dinner, Good Morning Captain. Six tracks halfway between a clumsy, ramshackle, biting ultra-amplified blues-folk and instrumental music of noise-rock extraction, played both with the fervor of experienced musicians and with the solemn mastery of an avant-garde ensemble. All six tracks involve complex and daring harmonic, timbral, rhythmic, and (anti)melodic reworkings. There are dissonances, beats, off-key consonances, even distorted variations of the timbral and chord sequence (as in Don Aman, one of the most underrated tracks on the album). The singing is as poetically malleable as ever: scream, whisper, jolt (of the soul and its dark folds), uneasy speech, environmental declamation, catatonic delirium.
In the guise of a teenage album, it is, at the same time, cataloging and dissecting, starting point and no-return, a constructive indictment of a universe, an expressionist altar of monstrous deformation and hybridization. It starts from the suburban night, those neon-lit corners, of murky, blurred roads and memories, made of decadent audiovisual flashes, and reaches cosmic mourning, in a pinnacle of dramatic crescendos that goes from the initial harmonic muting to Mcmahan’s outbursts at the close.
The most advanced stage of post-hardcore. A very complex mosaic of subliminal shards. The perfect account of an inner death. The black box of the cosmos. The ultimate disintegration of rock and its icons. A symphonic poem of majestic silent acoustic terrorism. The irrevocable seal to mourning in music. The high song of a troubled and devastated generation.
Under Albini's guidance, it is also a showcase of the instrumental masterpieces of the band's members: first and foremost the moving drum part by Walford (later with the Breeders) and Pajo's sick and oblique guitar. From a low-key release of American underground to an epochal work: numerous offspring and more or less transversal kinships that the creative shockwave of the work in question will help to birth. The second and last album of the Louisville band, which will dissolve and disperse its members somewhat everywhere, recorded in a session lasting from August to October '90. In that distant 1991 it went unnoticed, as is rightly the case for all true breakthrough works, so great was the innovative scope of the record.
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Summary by Bot
Slint's Spiderland is a complex and daring post-hardcore album blending blues-folk and noise-rock with avant-garde elements. Featuring intricate rhythms, dissonances, and expressive vocals, it captures a dark, suburban-to-cosmic atmosphere. Produced by Steve Albini, the album showcases instrumental mastery and remains a seminal underground release. Initially unnoticed, it has since become an epochal work influencing many artists.Tracklist Lyrics Videos
Slint
Slint are an American band from Louisville, Kentucky, formed in the late 1980s by Brian McMahan and Britt Walford with David Pajo and Ethan Buckler (later Todd Brashear). They released Tweez (1989) and the influential Spiderland (1991); a two-track Slint EP followed in 1994 after their breakup. The group reunited for live performances, including All Tomorrow’s Parties in 2005.10 Reviews
Other reviews
By ZiOn
"Forty minutes. That’s the duration of one of the most brutal murders in music history."
"In Spiderland, in 1991, it was all already there."
By sickman
Spiderland is one of the most influential albums of the last 15 years, the founder of a new style called post-rock.
Good Morning Captain, besides being one of the most beautiful things that I have personally ever listened to, slowly takes us among the clouds only to crash us back to the ground.
By Caspasian
Beauty is the deception of the senses, the spider here is the deception to the senses.
Like all true states of hallucination, the pieces zigzag, untainted by comparisons and parallels: it’s solely a short circuit that scrapes atrophied glands.
