Of the many bountiful things the Pandemic lockdown brought to my attention was the grandstanding opus of Godspeed You Black Emperor. A band that has become the epitome of 'post rock' whether they approved of that lazy catagorisation of them or not.
What has emerged since their foundation in 1994 is a particularly trenchant artistic vision, given a distinct musical form. One that borrows from many genres, but rises above being affiliated to any of them. So it is minimalist- maximalist music, experimental music, avant-garde drone music, a dramatic chamber music of sorts played on rock instruments - guitars, drums and violin. All of these things and more. They eschew lyrics or vocals, just the occasional 'found voice' will surface from the orchestrated cacophony. Instrumental crescendos of repetitive refrains building to portray the zeitgeist of our time.
That this new album depicts a scorched and dangerous landscape that gives expression to turbulent emotions, captures the conflicted feelings over not just Gaza, but pretty much everything. You can hear the desolation in the brief three minutes plus of Broken Spires at Dead Kapital. The siren like sound in amongst the distant plummeting explosions at the beginning of Babys in a Thundercloud. The suggestive note of hope and optimism in the concluding coda of Grey Rubble-Green Shoots.
The titles they chose for albums or tracks are often filled with expressive ellipsisms of their own creation - hash tags, exclamation marks, semi colons, hyphens and brackets abound. It's a type of concrete poetry reduced to the oblique matter of fact detail. No Title.... is coldly factual, a date and the number dead. A reference to those killed in Israel's war on Gaza at the time of this albums recording.
You have to read between those words and imagery, examine the music and visuals they use, to elicit what political comment may be being being made.The track listing goes : - Son is a Hole, Son is Vapours - Babys in a Thundercloud - Raindrops Cast in Lead - Broken Spires at Dead Kapital - Pale Spectator Takes Photographs - Grey Rubble Green Shoots. Make of these what you will.
GSYBE compose music undoubtedly driven by a political impetus. Yet the manner in which they express it though lacking in specifics, always speaks to a more universal level of truth. This is not sharpened political polemic hitting you on the head with manifesto propaganda points. Though GSYBE may inform you chapter and verse of their intent via their press release. But press releases alone do not necessarily make your music political. In the end it's about creating a cogent feeling, not a finely expressed deconstruction or analysis.
The power of what they do is then in the strength of mood conjured. Sometimes it is vast and grand and defiant, yet shadowed by this world weary, plaintive lyrical melancholy. No Title.... is suffused with a drone that hovers in and out throughout it, like a malevolent missile constantly altering course in the pursuit of its target. This music charged with anger, pity and a remorseful sadness heavily woven through it.
Their two most recent albums seem to have become more angst laden, an action of remorse. Filled with frustrated ennui as the potential end of humanity looms ever larger in our collective psyche. Where the point at which we could've saved ourselves from disaster, has perhaps passed, and we will have to address whatever the direst consequences turn out to be. Fighting all the while genocidal wars to eradicate an enemy, as though there were nothing else on our mind that really should matter more.
It was after a third listen through that I finally felt able to state an opinion on No Title As of 13th February 2024. 28,340 Dead. This is a bleak, brilliant sequence of music. The more I listen to it the more impressive it becomes. But, Yeah, this is not a happy upbeat album. Hell No.
CARROT REVIEW - 8/8
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