Geins't Naït - Archives 2/3 LP
4 years after the first volume, Geins't Naït is back on Editions Gravats, with another raw set of french industrial 'grot and slot' from between 1986 -1993' -
Served on an LP across 11 tracks, Archives 2/3 kicks in with firm intent and stance. Kicking off on intros by repurposing experiences of sexual harrasment to one of the female band members by way of including the unidentified aggressors voice messages, and then shredding on through the sense of disgust by way of cranky punk and dark wave industrial sonics - meaningful, proper fierce, and cathartic in the process.
Some tracks come in short, staggered burst of rhythm and cantankerous, musique concrete style bursts of rhythmically arranged noise and tape-cut recordings, whilst others sprawl and squeal over longer periods, guided by warped synths, chopped samples, guitar or machine feedback and vocals - all fully alive.
By the time we arrive at
Jçvus, the 7 minute-long track number 7 on this LP, our brain and body has already been physically merged and plunged into the ever-sinking sands this ear wormhole of sludge sonics and synapse-stirring sound that Geins't Naït cook up. Wether at fierce forward momentum, or in a reverse entangled kind of sense, such as on this track, each of the tracks come on like a (quiet) storm keeping us fully confronted with it's raw force, or looming danger - and therefore immersed at all times.
As we get through the second side, things get gloomier still, and the sound goes into dungeon levels of dankness, voicemail interjenctions followed by clattering, train like noise and looming synth pads as an old recording of a german voice with a political statement against fake socialists and bankers speaks through gunshots, in an orchestral whirlwind of doom.
This cathartic doom intensifies with a sense of abrasion, and destruction in the tracks go into more frenetic energy exchanges, such as as the C-Schulz style hack ups on the (calm before storm) Désormais, the final track before we're lowered into the final shred, the morgue of sorts... And this where we lay to rest, and then go up in flames. Or maybe even more apt: the morgue or slaughterhouse, as the title might suggest with its name: Chicken Kitchen.
... Yeah, this is the real deal industrial!
Limited Edtion LP.
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