III’s sound reminds me of an old warehouse where I used to rent a practice space. Hair, funk, and cover bands filled the other spaces. Their caves were lined with full-stacks of cutting-edge, dust-free equipment amplified by psychedelic stage lights. These ensembles were full-scale operations, like Carter Beauford’s drum kit.
Through these halls of rock biz aspirations, I found residue from fingers and pipes, private black mold rooms, empty vending machines, sponges and undies, oil, abused pianos, chewed reeds, bathroom graffiti on every inch, tar, patchouli, grease, stale beer, UTZ crumbs, flickering fluorescent, drug bags, and broken strings. I would hear the ensembles clawing away, rehearsing, doing another take, getting it right. Their sounds met in the halls, where they clashed together, creating a new sound environment and collaboration that transcended their individual efforts.
During the dawn phenomenon, these wafting smashes of idioms were haunting. III operates during those hours, in those haunted halls, where idiom is mangled, made hideous, and extinguished. The album has an emptiness that no level of high-energy drumming can resolve. Digital effects lengthen the span of the haunted hall, a Faraday-shielded shelter. The percussion transitions into ambient moments resembling edge-burnt postcards wedged in the walls, bookended by stall scrawls. Oil is the dominant scent.
• Andreas Brandal: http://andreasbrandal.wordpress.com
• Børre Myklebust: https://boesounds.bandcamp.com
• Arachnidiscs Recordings: http://arachnidiscs.wordpress.com
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