quête:charivari

The III Rivers juggernaut sets forth once again, release number 4 The Charivari EP, putting Voiceless in the cockpit and leading the charge.

Second Nature sets a dark, sultry and ominous tone as Voiceless deploys a plethora of sounds and moods that resonate with all the tense drama of the label's affiliated club night, Bohemian Grove.
Big laser beam synths dart through a thick pitch black haze while a factory line percussion section hammers on.

Always keeping a foot in the sonic warfare division, we get three locked grooves loaded and ready for battle, funky, electrified technoid wobblers that should fight off most opposition with ease.

Flip the disc and Opt-out opens with a controlled urgency as a barrage of kick drums sets the train in motion. Voiceless layers up rich, untreated piano chords against the backdrop of dark industrial chaos, percussion artefacts career around the mix and various elements are put through an aural meat grinder before the familiar and welcoming piano motif returns like a long lost friend, guiding us through the smoke hand-in-hand. A beautiful juxtaposition of soulful melancholy and cold, glacial machines.

Final track Charivari really hits the accelerator as a tough and mechanical rhythm jolts against blurred, radioactive pads and searing string lines before collapsing into a fractal breakdown introducing mystical, weaving high end leads. An eyes-down fist pumper of the highest order and one that commands excessive smoke & strobe light abuse late, late into the session.

One to close off one of their infamous soirees in style, hoards of mutant dancers leaving the industrial backdrop of the club's venue and crossing paths with the early morning dog walkers and Sunday strollers. Four releases in and we've lost none of the quality control, unique drive and free minded 'true spirit' (to quote Tresor's legendary catchphrase). The label goes from the strength to strength and with it, brings a whole new generation of techno shamans under their wing.

SITW’s fourth studio album is a satirical celebration of mistakes. A joyous lambasting of everyone and everything that’s wrong in the world, against the real-time backdrop of global uncertainty, corruption and political unrest.

A London Charivari. Rough Music. A gleeful old-fashioned cancelling. A Chaunter’s delight. 14th Century recording demons collecting mistakes in a sack. Women mugging rich merchants. Nettles being pissed on. Shit food at Lent. A terrible plan. An undoing. The aftermath of a car crash. Catching people doing something they shouldn’t. Nursery rhymes reimagined as death threats. Behind the sarcastic acerbic delivery, Nicola Kearey and Ian Carter convey thoughtful, essential interpretations encouraging us all to check ourselves, through the multi-layered music of cities through time.

This is about as far away from pastoral folk music as you can get.

In their typical wry city-weary style, a beady eye is cast over those committing wrongs in plain sight, with Kearey narrating a series of tales of people fucking up, or being fucked up, with some brief respite in Lavender - one of London’s oldest street melodies - the album being named after the 14th Century story of Tittivilus, the recording demon, who collects scribes’ mistakes (pokes) and the idle chatter of the “liars with their hairy tongues” congregation.

Despite this seriousness, the album’s working-class dry gallows humour carries a stoic “if you don’t laugh you’ll cry” feeling amongst the corruption, scandals and barefaced lies we all observe on a daily basis, with a warning that “only you can fix your deficits” and “it’s your words and deeds that matter…and let me tell you, they speak volumes”.

The core of the record imagines a sound of traditional London music, where the musical continuum is unbroken by the population decimated by the world wars, or by gentrification and social cleansing that has forced communities apart, and yet absorbs all the influences of all the communities that call London their home.

Carter and Kearey attempted sessions at The George Tavern, Whitechapel, and in Spitalfields, at Denis Severs’ House, and a restored weaver’s townhouse, carrying the aesthetic of the record in their heads as they moved from location to location, before settling into an old factory building and their own workshop. The resulting sparse and economical sound is harsher, more present, more essentially them. It is a mighty haranguing that demands your attention.