Genre: Experimental / Noise Rock / Improvisation
Both sides untitled
The drum and bass duo format has yielded some pretty tasty fruit over the past two decades. Groups from Japan's Ruins to Rhode Island's Lightning Bolt have proven that you don't need to fill a sonic void in order to have some full-spectrum exploratory rock. England's Temperatures don't play rock per se, but are definitely capable of rocking. James (drums/synth) and Peter (bass/voice) have more in common with the U.S. duo Eloe Omoe than they do with someone like Godheadsilo. That is to say that the emphasis is more on unabashed improvisatory sound-sculpting than it is on prog-rock fuelled meter changes. These two side-long untitled pieces go hither and yon to places, in the band's own words, that are 'too hot to handle, too cold to hold.' Best to retain your heat while you can I suppose.
The first side plods along with some rumbles and throbs amongst some skittering trap-work and a bit of menacing synthesizer. I'm imagining an early Faust after-hours session with Zeppi Diermaier and Rudolf Sosna exhausting the last bit of whatever chemicals have inhabited their minds and bodies that day. A two-note figure lays the groundwork for some scrapes and barbed noise that the drummer freely extemporizes all over with a gratuitous amount of cymbal activity. About halfway through the drums threaten to usher in a norm of periodicity with some deft playing that feels as though we're taking off into familiar rock territory. It turns out to be a tease as we get treated to an about-face into something that has more in common with vintage no wave or perhaps even Lake Of Dracula. The side concludes with amplitude-modulated throbbing bass, cheap-mic vocals and some feedback. This ties up the proceedings nicely and gives the piece a sense of cohesion.
The flipside kicks off with some frantic bass noodling and tight but free kit shenanigans. Just when you think that these guys can't keep this up any longer, they diverge into some pulse-based jamming. The sense of temporal continuity is however fucked with royally. James' elastic take on meter coupled with the pitch-bent strings of the bass come across like a restless tape-op ever so slightly retarding the tape's journey across the recording head. When Peter's vocals kick in, it's as if we're inhabiting the magnetic particles of some long-lost bootleg of The Fall (circa early 80s) on a night when Mark E. Smith has had just the right combination of lager and amphetamines. From here the duo ride on some free rock wave for a bit and settle into what sounds like a coffeehouse gig gone all wrong. Nice.
Overall this LP has a great sense of flux. The fidelity may be less than stellar, but the black on brown printing and shiny black vinyl are quite appealing. Temperatures' music is like none other and therein lies the greatest appeal of all. If that interests you, then you should act quickly because there are only 100 of these in circulation. I need to water my plants. Have a blessed day.
