Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Anemone Lodge - S/T (Bezoar Formations CD-R)

Billed as a co-effort by the mugs behind Number None, The Opera Glove Sinks in the Sea and the previously reviewed Radiant Husk, this quartet effort is comprised of Jeremy Bushnell, Matthew Erickson, Gwyneth Merner and Chris Miller. Barely sounds like four people though, as it slips right into some pretty soupy textural trappings from the get go. Loving this Bezoar Formations approach lately, nice and airy but with some real weight to it, this one sounds like some fuller Super Minerals effort or something.

First track is called "Aunt Beast" and it conjures up some pretty heavy duty humpback whale, ocean territory. Nice bathings in fuzz and odd, acousmatic textures that glide along deep between the drowned pirate ship and the anemone forest. Even sounds like a cello joins the mix, which gives it all a pretty palpable feel without becoming any less gooey. Same goes for "Now It Still Murmurs Ripples," whose odd delayed string tweaks and low end murmur manage to cover all the timbral ranges without overloading it with sound. Everything being as well placed and carefully considered as it is gives the murk a sheen that's often lacking in this kind of thing. This is no doom drone, nor is it the earthy Housecraft style approach... really some kind of conglomeration of the two that moves like a leviathan on its way to the breeding pond.

Seems the group's on to the water metaphors too, as the third track is called "I Often Dream I am Drowning." Yet this is exactly the right feel actually--there's nothing overtly hostile or terrifying about any of this, but it's definitely some submerged, last minutes of consciousness stuff. Just never thought it would be so peaceful. Here, there're these broad sweeps of high tone that nestle into the upper vertebrae and really manage to fuck mental operations up. It's the kind of slow, creeping psychedelia that's always been way more personally effective than your standard onslaught of "trippy" sounds and psych-rock heaviness. Really gets in the brain and freezes it up for bit.

The disc closes with "Nerve Sparks in his Glass Feet," a 7-minute jaunt that closes the too-short 24 minutes of the work with a real slow and soft, airy horn thing. Kind of like Greg Kelley jamming it out with some synth tone, only Kelley's mic is turned way down. Real beauty though, slips right along and lets the album close right into the ether from whence it came. Another Bezoar winner for sure, and again, a beautiful package to boot.

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