Review: The Suicide Of Western Culture – Hope Only Brings Pain
Published on January 23rd, 2013 | Jonny Abrams
This duo from Terrassa, on the outskirts of Barcelona, have come up with an early contender for electronic album of the year with this, their lavishly coloured and subtly eclectic second LP on local label Irregular.
“Remembering Better Times” gets things underway with an enraptured flare-up of synths atop a slow-clapping beat, a combination reminiscent of Walls, before “Hey, guys! I Know The name Of The Culprits” – just one of several spectacular song titles on this collection – picks up the pace, shuffling along on its grinding synth bass and glorious electronic glowworms.
Dig that beat: clickety clackety POW! Tremendous.
The dramatically stringswept “Two Lights At The Bottom Of the Ravine” wields icy blasts of keys over its seriously crumply bass rumble and escalates into quite the stompathon; “Love Your Friends, Hate Politicians” sends a squishy, Soca-ish beat and some decidedly ravey touches through the ever-present maximalist splendour, while “Oranienburger” both glitchily interferes with and fades in and out on its own benevolently strutting stomp, heaping on the ingredients as it goes.
The good stuff just keeps on coming: “When Did i Become Everything I Hate” sees wibbly circus organ inhabit a faintly sinister minor key as some kind of weird chomping sound does its thing in the background’ it then becomes a jarring, druggy wilderness held together by its digital stomp (there’s that word again) and emboldened by a terrifying, blaring scream.
“El Cristo De La Buena Muerte” has an ace motif of gulping keys and a pulsing, throbbing rhythm once its taken flight from the murky wilderness of its intro; “Spanish Republican Soldiers In French Retirement Homes” punctuates its inquisitive melody with waves of static that prep you for the pounding euphoria of the title track, which with its ravier take on Lemon Jelly blissfulness may just be the album’s highlight.
All of which leaves “Scapaflow” to underline all that’s gone before it in consummate fashion, providing a fitting coda to an album that remains positively airborne throughout. Excellent stuff that, to end this review in somewhat hackneyed fashion, will with any luck establish The Suicide of Western culture on these shores. Think Twoism-era Boards of Canada meets Ulrich Schnauss and you’ll be somewhere vaguely close.
Rocksucker says: Four Quails out of Five!