Capers

Dregs
Capers
Dregs

A good week for the spluttering stresshead in late October London, blessed as we are not only with the well-fed special edish 2LP heft of Whitehouse's Thank Your Lucky Stars but also this gaunt document, the wee runt of the litter - CAPERS.

A scrappy, grating death spritz of jammed abbatoir-mechanics from Erik Nystrand on EFFM’s private press (150 copies, ach) - cold and malnourished machine music, gutturally rasping out their last breaths of life, the despair on Dregs is more than palpable.

Third time listening through in the shop this morning =  two complaints from neighbours. Can sorta stomach the complaints on this occasion, really, Dregs is absolutely the sound of some going WRONG, brilliant, relentless racket that sounds like I mighta hoovered up the aux cable (def not doing any hoovering), or if Dilloway was choking on one of those contact mics he puts in his mouth, whilst having a run in with a combine harvester. Being less childish about it, for us at least it recalls the first LP of Zone Nord, classic mid-90s French skreech-freek (who also boshed out a “hard-techno” 12” at some point - oooo-errr!) and a righteous, retching document of inner turmoil - and despite employing the occasional vocal yelp (unlike Capers' deathlike silence on this front), both records carry a similar density, and a similar tension that comes from their (heavily submerged but very much THERE) rhythmic quality. Nystrand's searing, discordant waves begin to crash in patterns, forming a totally immersive yet utterly CAUSTIC vortex - aside from a very fleeting, ground-up radio excerpt on the fourth or fifth track, there will be nothing to help you get your bearings, s'a point of no return from the off. Demands your attention!

£16.99