Suche:coral grief

Coral Grief, das Rocktrio aus Seattle, und Air Between Us, sein Debütalbum, sind treffend betitelt. Die ersten Töne von Sam Fasons Gitarre im Opener ,Starboard" treffen wie ein Windstoß Seeluft ins Gesicht. In nur wenigen Sekunden schwebt man, zu gleichen Teilen unter dem Himmel und über dem Meer. Es ist ein ähnliches Dazwischen, in dem Coral Grief gedeihen, denn sie konstruieren ein kunstvolles Geflecht aus doppelten Bedeutungen in dieser Hommage und Lobrede auf ihre Stadt und Community. Die Sängerin und Bassistin Lena Farr-Morrissey und Fason sind durch die psychische Chemie verbunden, die man nur durch jahrelanges gemeinsames Spielen in Bands entwickeln kann. Die Gitarre von Fason ist das Segel zu Farr-Morrisseys Anker, und hier schafft er Texturen, die so dicht sind wie der Wind. Das Bindeglied - der Motor in dieser nautischen Metapher - ist Schlagzeuger Cam Hancock, der von gemeinsamen Freunden wärmstens empfohlen wurde. Sein treibendes Spiel dient als Brücke der Ideen, als letztes Puzzlestück, als Meister der Dynamik und Übergängen, der ihre Songs in neue Gefilde treibt, ohne dabei aufzufallen. Gemeinsam lassen sie sich von Stereolab, Broadcast, Th' Faith Healers und Seefeel inspirieren, und umrahmen diese sehr spezifische Sorte von britischer Coolness auf eine einzigartige Weise wie es sie nur im pazifischen Nordwesten gibt. Um die Songs zum Leben zu erwecken, begab sich das Trio ins The Unknown - eine eine stillgelegte Kirche, die als Segelmanufaktur und Aufnahmestudio in Anacortes, WA dient. In Zusammenarbeit mit dem Toningenieur Nich Wilbur, der sich von fünf Matchas pro Tag ernährte, wurde der Arbeitsraum zu ihrem Workshop. ,Wir wollten die Dinge zu dritt angehen, aber auch, dass es so üppig und voll wie möglich klingt", erklärt Fason.

Bristol-based trip hop trio Jabu this week announced details of their second album. ‘Sweet Company’ will be released on November 20th via the group’s own do you have peace? imprint.

Sweet Company is the second album by Jabu. Where their first LP, Sleep Heavy, was an unflinching exploration of grief, dark and disembodied, Sweet Company’s deep, sedative soul feels like more of a lovers’ outing: optimistic, becalmed, looking outwards as well as inwards, and longing for the kind of human connections where ego and self-consciousness might dissolve. It is perhaps also an exhortation to love and accept yourself, to recover a lost innocence and peace – that paradise which has always been lost. Released via their own do you have peace? label, Sweet Company is on the one hand a very intimate and private-sounding work - the sound of life played out in a room, a bubble, a home, a head. The rhythms of everyday domesticity: listening to the plants, cars in the street, voices through the wall…. going to work, not going to work, sleeping heavy or not sleeping at all. Wavering on the brink of a revelation, of something just beyond the material world, while you wait for the kettle to boil. The core Jabu trio of producer Amos Childs and vocalists Jasmine Butt and Alex Rendall is present and correct. Sweet Company has theexhilarating sweep and confidence of a collaboration between people who trust and understand each other implicitly, and, secure in that knowledge, are able to give the absolute best of themselves to us. As before, Jasmine’s voice is a textural, painterly instrument, layered and blurred into abstraction, resisting the limits of language; the songs she sings on are portals into vast internal landscapes where the normal rules of gravity are suspended, every sound is smothered in a cathedral-like resonance, and you're both fearful and hopeful that you might never find your way back out again. Alex takes a more narrative, confessional and no less engaging pop tack: as on the gauzy, decelerated 2-step of ‘Lately’, with his masochistic, self-mocking entreaties to “be cruel to me … I like it when you make a fool of me”. Childs has a true hip-hop fiend's ear for a striking sample, and how to loop it to most hypnotic and rapturous effect, but here takes things to ever more powerfully uncanny and auteurish places, drawing inspiration from the voidal bliss-outs of shoegaze (AR Kane’s amniotic dream-pop epic 69 is one influence cited) and the space-time disturbances of dub, commanding both a raindrops-on-cobwebs delicacy and an immense, oceanic pressure. His productions seem to resist linear progression - instead they move by a kind of unstoppable diffusion, like weeds reclaiming an unkempt garden, or alien flora patterning the sea-floor and coral-caves of the subaquatic level of a computer game which may exist only in your, or his, imagination. Perhaps it's Daniela Dyson, the British-Afro-Colombian artist who contributes her vivid, energising poetic mysticism to two tracks, who best sums up Sweet Company's ambition and effect: “Me quiero perder en los momentos tan puros en su esencia que Las Horas mismas se detienen para ser testigo de nuestro amor” (I want to lose myself in the moments so pure in their essence / that The Hours themselves stop to bear witness to our love…). For a precious half an hour, we're invited to celebrate the smallness of our lives - and the limitless grandeur which that smallness contains. When it ends, we step back from the brink but things aren’t quite the same anymore: we’re haunted by what we briefly almost knew.