The ability to produce a suite of five songs which simultaneously seem part of totally different musical genres yet somehow sonically sit perfectly side by side is a great, and indeed brave, trick in this often musically narrow-minded world. It is probably because the driving force behind it, Ashkan Maleyeri approaches his music as a writer of scores, rather than someone interested in taking the more obvious route of song writing for a popularist market.
Long Vivid Dream moves at it’s own, often unexpected, pace from the opening, creeping strains of Migraine to the dark, raw edged dynamism of The Life of Lily then from the down beat, Kate Bush-esque Black and Grey to the drifting nature and cold musical climes of Poor Receipts. But if there is one song that stands out from the more ethereal sounds that colour the e.p. it is What Pain Brings and its ability to wander through the sounds of the jazz era, re-appropriating beats and incorporating brass section grandeur but still sounding like the product of a near-future, dystopian cocktail bar band.
And it is such strange juxtapositions which see big rock guitars sit along side slick eighties styled electronica, dark and haunting grooves bristle with pop aware catches and neo-classical vocals deliver fractured dreamstate operas.
The inherent eclecticism to be found here reflects something of Ashkan’s own journey from the warmth of Tehran to cooler Cambridge climate and the decidedly harsher Canadian Winters but just as everybody draws their own story across the world map, that story also suggest a very unique soundtrack. Add to that the breathy and sultry tones of vocalist of Alexis Nadeau and you have a very enticing soundscape indeed.
I love the fact that I have lived long enough to witness the word Lynchian become a recognised label, one that can be applied to art and creativity across a wide range of spectrums. In the visual aspect it is synonymous with delving beyond the ordinary surface to find the dark and unsettling underbelly of modern society, to turn the familiar into the something elusive, uncertain and eventually horrific. 68 Creep seem to be the perfect band to take such an attitude and render it into the perfect soundtrack.
As the central hub around which the musically intricate world of Karda Estra revolves, Richard Wileman has been responsible for a wide range of wonderfully textured, unpredictable and eclectic music. He has wandered from intense noir-ish soundtracks to sweeping celestial grandeur and embarked on everything from progressive Avant Gardening trips to jazz infused meanderings. But everyone needs some time out now and again and so here we find him playing with a musically straighter bat. Voice, acoustic guitar, a guest Clarinet for the final track and little else, a far cry from the usual musical layers we find him swathed in but no less glorious a result.
Music and alcohol have always been in a relationship; from the inspiring to the fatal they are both connected in an on going dance. Music has long celebrated and cursed the liquid in equal measure and here Willodean take a more reflective approach to the subject. This modern take on the barroom serenade is refreshingly honest and accepting of the inevitable, a Tom Waits ballad but with a more accessible and commercially viable vibe.
The fact that Beto Hale discovered the Beatles at a young and impressionable age is indelibly woven into the heart of this album. Whilst not always obviously Beatle-esque, the album seems to often think in similar ways and certainly Orbs of Light has a late 60’s charm and slightly nostalgic pop attitude about it. Nostalgic not so much in that it feels as if it trying to re-capture or pastiche those formative pop years but more that it echoes a similar classic feel, a deft and clean limbed approach to song-writing which seems to have been overshadowed by the march of studio technology and a lowering of musical expectation in recent years.
If in the past I have described 
There’s a corner of the music scene in the UK and Ireland these days that’s becoming more noticeable – insistent, even – under the increasingly inaccurate and irrelevant banner “Americana”.
If the band, album name and artwork seem to suggest something aimed at the black clad, wannabe pagans who still have visions of relocating to Sunnydale and hanging around with Buffy and the gang, I am most happy to report that Occultation rises far above such first impressions. Give the music a spin and you find yourself in a dark and emotive alt-rock soundscape. Even the term gothic, as a genre at least, is slightly amiss here, for it neither fits in with the old-school post-punk movement or the metal sub-genre it has since become. If it is gothic at all it is more in the literary sense, painting dark mystique, broken romanticism and haunted emotions across its musical canvas.
There is something that lies at the heart of Lynne Taylor Donovan’s sound which seem to make me picture it playing from an old radio at a low volume at night, perhaps as the quiet sound track to the scene of a film, one tinged with love, loss and longing. It is a resonance, a certain sonic heart, a depth of classicism, and a feeling that even whilst hearing the song for the first time it is somehow woven into the very fabric of the human condition.
One of the things which speaks volumes about just how much the world has changed over the last generation is when you are reading the comments of an on line discussion and some one posts something along the lines of “musicians should stay out of politics.” Surely the whole point of art in general and music in particular is to comment on the world around you. Yes, of course you can make throw away dance tunes and music that ticks aesthetically pleasing boxes, but equally valid is music as a soapbox, a platform from which to add to the social and political dialogue, to unite and energise or confront and accuse as you see fit.
