All aboard! The dark, dislocated return of you-know-who rattles with instinctive, subliminal voodoo ENCHANTMENT. Yes, if trance was the gradual appearing and reappearing of rhythms between the eloquent swells of fragile, drone-folk cascades and spiralling, distorted madness, like the emergence of a path to some uninhabited tidal island, then….this be trance!
As with “Precious Waste In Our Wake”, it's hard to isolate and recall precise moments from the fluidity of this full-length, however, before you wholly lose your bearings, it’s clear that the opener - “Bad Grace” - stands TALL amongst the finest examples of Trip. Neg.’s (sorry) own tunnelling, disintegrative dialect. That said, the clearest break in the tide of textural immersion brings forth “Fine Cargo Laquer”, which for me is Triple Negative’s most realised SONG (in the traditional sense) to-date, with Anja’s voice singing a hopeless, lonely-is-the-ocean / cruel-is-the-shore lament over weather-beaten chords and half-cut, death-letter riffs.
Total last evenings on earth clobber here. A chaotic yet finely tuned, isolationist but utterly destructive BOMB of an LP that never let’s up in celebrating self-devastation, as if the pleasure principle merely began and ended on Janet Jackson’s third album.
Highest possible recommend.