The feeling of being fucking behind.
The album of the year, from the end of 2010, and you discover it well into 2011, just two weeks after the only one of the two Italian dates a few kilometers from your home. It seems like a sketch from the Simpsons. But where the fuck was I?
Post-punk is back, it's resurrected in all its splendor, and God bless Luis Vasquez, but what am I saying, God doesn't need to bless him, he is God, from California, and his journey into the Mojave Desert, think about it for a moment: a delirious genius, a guy who went to record practically in Death Valley (it's not true, but it makes for great drama) and if he didn't think of some kind of devil, it was the music that drove him crazy.
The Soft Moon is a mind-blowing project, a front-row seat over a dark, black, murky abyss, as that landscape must have seemed in the moonlight. The exact opposite of the warm and sunny California we are used to imagining, the ideal accompaniment for a good noir, a fixed bass line that seems recovered from an old Bauhaus vinyl, and Vasquez's voice very, very distant.?
Let’s be clear, Vasquez doesn’t sing: he howls, he moans, he writhes. When he’s in a happy mood (so to speak), he whispers. A single hoarse vowel until he runs out of breath, at most he mumbles some indistinguishable words (eleven tracks listened in loop for three days and the only phrase I managed to understand is “I swear something”), but it’s better this way. These sounds are not meant to be sung: The Soft Moon is an album to be listened to in silence, staring at nothingness.
It is the Apocalypse, a mystic experience. It is El Topo climbing the Sacred Mountain. “Breathe the Fire,” “Circles,” and “Out of Time,” the three opening tracks, are a chthonic invocation, capable of inducing you into a catatonic state like never before. To wake you up, the trembling riff of “When it’s Over” opens a kind of shoegaze-flavored vortex, and if it’s not him moaning, the synthesizer does it. The rest is done by pounding rhythms and expansive atmospheres.
It’s not a revival, it’s dark wave in its purest form. An album that truly emerged alive from the '80s, also available on vinyl and cassette, can you believe it?
Total, absolute delirium.
The dark sounds and very gloomy atmospheres that Mr. Luis Vasquez composed in the grip of some early ’80s fervor are brutally betrayed in form by a relentless drum machine.
Destructuring, the abuse of synths and a bass that sounds enveloping and sweet like a very aged Roquefort take center stage.
"'Breathe The Fire' perfectly balances the apocalyptic disorientation of Joy Division with the delays of the Cure."
"The drama spills into theatricality, simply out of tune. I really wouldn’t know how to define this redundant minimalism."