This Heat
Deceit

THE REVIEW

In the history of rock, there aren’t many artists who can adorn their music with the title of "undefinable." The reason for this is evident. To create something new requires vision, a "timeless" spirit, and a touch of genius which are the prerogatives of a few. These artists not only reach incredible heights but also perform a true miracle: they render language powerless.
From its origins, mankind has sought an expressive code, becoming increasingly "precise," which would allow communication. Today’s man, especially the western one, has become so accustomed to these communication rules that he cannot conceive any other form of expression. However, he has "forgotten" that his nature is first and foremost made of sensitivity and instinct. And so, when he has to decipher a message not related to language capabilities, he goes into crisis because he has to "re-coordinate" his cognitive scheme, anesthetized by habit and inertia. Now it is clear why the term "miraculous" is really appropriate. Because it’s not easy to slip out of the meshes of the linguistic code, and when a form of art manages to do this, it forces man to revert to his "primordiality."
But if I want to describe something to you, I must use language, because it's the only "means" I have at this moment to convey my feelings. Well, this is a challenge, and I will have to face this challenge. Or, if you prefer English, "This Heat".

They were one of the many bands of the English new wave, with a background dating back to when this term was not even in existence. Charles Hayward, Charles Bullen, and Gareth Williams decided to put their skills at the service of this project in 1975. After two EPs and a self-titled debut album, they released (well, so to speak...) this record in 1981.

It begins with a whistle that serves as an intro to a semi-tribal drum, tainted by a deliberately low-fi studio effect, meanwhile, a delicate baritone voice intones an industrial lullaby.
You know a question mark? Well, the first minimalistic guitar-soaked seconds of "Paper Heart" resemble just that; later, a choir of the mentally ill arrives to "sing" a psalm in an anemic tone. Everything seems to settle, but instead, an explosion of free-jazz tears apart this leaden sky, which darkens again thanks to an obsessive bass groove.
Evidently, some children must have entered the instrument room and are playing. One of them plays the clarinet, and it’s not even out of tune, thankfully one hears the voice of an adult, actually two, but what's going on? Instead of scolding, they accompany them in song, and they even give it a title: "Triumph".
The driving drums and epic guitar of "S.P.Q.R." seem like the schizophrenic version of "Pride" by U2.
It looks like "Cenotaph" is even "catchy," with its guitar sparks and lazy rhythm. Practically post-rock brought back to the times when it was still called rock, or new-wave, your call.
This time the psychopaths enter a nightclub and wander dangerously through African tribalism, so trendy among today’s house contaminations.
"Radio Prague" is a nervous tic that plays and tries to tune into the news broadcast. Period.
The Teutonic atmosphere of "Makeshift Swahili" brings progressive into the industrial era, grinding it in an exhausting sound vortex that gets lost in a supersonic black hole.
The idea of setting an industrial belly dance to music could only have come to them, it may seem a paradox, but I assure you that "Independence" sounds just like that.
And here we are at "A New Kind Of Water", which the three have wisely placed as the concluding track. For what reason? Because it is the one closest to the traditional concept of "song," but it does so in its own way. Practically it’s like a mirage, it seems what it is not, so it can be considered the masterpiece within the masterpiece.
Through more conventional sounds, in fact, This Heat create something unconventional. The requiem of an entire civilization. Of our civilization. A drum that shoots gunshots to the face of that mask of waste that mockingly smiles on the cover. We all wore that mask, even just for a moment, and that terrifying guitar is nothing but the sound of our lies. And the track we are talking about is nothing less than one of the most "revolutionary" in the history of rock.

I tried to face the challenge, but I came out defeated.
But I am happy to have lost to the work of beauty.