STOP - Paindeck
STOP - Paindeck cdr
price 5 €
zamów / order
Pretty far-out Polish electronic nonsense genius, which may be a solo turn by a nonsensical electronic genius Pole. Impossible to find out any facts about Paindeck. Depraved sex sleeve art and overall style of musical delivery (bleak and strange) may hark back to 'glorious' Nurse With Wound days of 1980s, and some hepcats would not have been surprised if LP version of this had turned up on United Dairies. But relentlessly good it be; of the eight tracks on offer (named with short sequences of letters from alphabet) only one or two of the nuggets fail to catch fire. First is an effective artillery assault built out of tape loops, a rotating nightmare piano phrase, and scattered noise air-shots, all of which above events are cleverly 'dubbed' on a mixing desk. It works as good insect repellent. Fifth track is a powerful sucking vacuum beast, pulling unwary pilgrims in to epicentre of its large, echoing stomach, wherein intestinal roars buffet ye. A fine Medieval death. Bosch, H approves of it.
4th cut is a glitchy hybrid mosquito-man, but miles away from the 1990s Cologne school of antiseptic digital perfection, this dirty clutch of rhythms grows ever more insane like an entire typing pool working overtime on 25 very noisy, super-fast electric typewriters. When's the coffee break, Doris' 3rd and 6th tracks are 98% field recordings, or use elements of same to send you mad as a stick while you sit there guessing what is going on; 3rd is mostly just perplexing and head-scratchy, while 6th uses traffic sounds, unseen clunking and clanking in background, and a cloud of ominous black crows overhead - into midst of which a brief snatch of organ pipe tune plays. Why? By time you've figured it out, you still yet have major delight of long 7th track to suck up through your brain-straw, one which starts of with strange lines of stuttering electronic linearity which build up into a loopy geometric grid until a dense melange of notional projections hems you in and straps you to iron bed. Very dynamic exploration into abstract realms unknown. Then final cut unleashes a bagful of humming blue monsters, who do their best to drown out the anthemic hymn tune which is cut to pieces on the editing board and roars out in broken bursts. Surreal Polish head-medicine at its finest. Obscure as anything and worthy of your immediate investigation. ED PINSENT (10-2003)