The most typical ways of listening to music nowadays is to either sit passively and let the harmonies sweep you away or move your limbs to the beat. But what happens when a musical form eschews both harmony and rhythm? Indeed, that very notion has been at the heart of esoteric forms of modern music since the 20th century, most often resulting in mere aesthetic contemplation for the initiated. However, with so-called noise music, there isn't a proffering of an overriding aesthetic or philosophy (at least an agreed upon one). On Shipwrecker's Diary, Prurient (Dominick Fernow) forces it through our ears whether we like it or not. But this shirtless, microphone-wielding noise practitioner doesn't simply flick a couple switches here and twist a potentiometer there. This noise is active, abrasive, and annihilating, minus the quiet interludes and incessant backbeats that characterize acts like Wolf Eyes. Relentless for over 30 minutes, the album is rewarding for those who have the guts to endure its sounds. Oddly, the album ends with two creepy love soliloquies by a young girl, which begs you to recontexualize the previous noise into a larger narrative. Though not the most "colorful" noise experience, it is certainly one of the most visceral; reminding us that music is not only mental, but also very physical.
1. +shoestring+
2. +shin+
3. +calf+
4. +belt+
5. +finger+
6. +palm+
7. +elbow+
8. +button+
9. +june 19+
10. +shoulder+
11. +neck+
12. +jaw+
13. +earlobe+
14. +who are you anyway?+
15. +i wonder if i'll be able to sleep? +
More about: Prurient
