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It's been a while since I last wrote, but reading the various reviews, I got a bit envious, and here I am again cutting through the Debaser waves clinging to a marvelous record, one of the masterpieces of the much-discussed post-rock.
Brian McMahan inherits the most neurotic, soporific, narcotic side of Slint, "Don Aman" and "For dinner", and constructs six tracks (actually this is an EP that will be combined with the first EP Fight Songs in Promised Works, 1997) swaying, rocking in anticipation of a liberating jolt of a shock that is often so light and delicate that it barely vibrates the intimacy of the listener. More generally, it is a suspended black atmosphere that sends shivers down your spine, the anticipation of an event that is slow to manifest, keeping the heart anxious, the dissonances between parts where even a chime, which should be shimmering and clear, generates chilling images, in "Winter Lair", where all the instruments instead of relating, converging to a point, wander each in their harmonic trance.
The two instrumental tracks veering into the territories of a dark minor tone mark the space within which the music moves, and if the attitude is rock, the continuous frustration of every explosive intent to return to a dimension of anguished calm is the area explored by the post: the convulsive "I Wear The Gold" and the mesmerizing "Preparing To Receive You". The voice is always on the verge of getting lost in "On The Swing", it is faint like the landscapes the lyrics sketch, snow-covered, evanescent, without boundaries in which to project oneself, become part of it, disappear inside. "Lymr, Marshmallow" is what you don't expect, a pagan gospel, a hymn stirred by ghosts, a lament to the woman, perhaps. "Salo" is beautiful, it rises, bursts, falls, "Salo" is a fatal waltz danced in a hall immersed in darkness until dawn, it is what you would have wanted to be...
"This waltz, this waltz, this waltz/ of yes, of death and of cognac/ that wets its tail in the sea" (F. G. Lorca)
If you can't do without the tremors of your heart, get it.
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