irr. app. (ext.) + Blue Sabbath Black Ch — Discordant Convergence
'Discordant Convergence' sadly marks the final release in the trilogy but hopefully not in the collaboration, as all three volumes by this Pacific Northwest team-up are seriously stunning. So much more than mere collages of automated audio, their polished processing has produced something far greater than its parts to instal in your environment their brand of magical misanthropy - the aural equivalent of Jake & Dinos Chapman's 'Hell'.
It opens with the devilishly titled 'Son Of The Morning', recasting several of the seeds that first spawned their creepshow vibe on 2009's 'Skeletal Imposition'. A blackened buzz flits over a slumbering beast's breaths as nightmarish fragments of gargling, damaged toy tones and electrical discharge are smeared rapidly across the stereo image. Later, an obscured girl's voice reinforces a sense of the paranormal, reminding of the abducted pleas spilling from the TV set in the Poltergeist movie.
'Vocatus Atque Non Vocatus Dolor Aderit' the ancient proverb Carl Jung chose for his grave, warns "Called or uncalled, God will be present". Here it labels a five minute panic attack, where taut, cinematic strings flail helplessly and violently over an erosive and thick electrical sludge. As a desperate hammering eventually weakens, respite from the claustrophobic carnage is afforded in the form of the elegant but sad tones of a wolf baying in the open air.
'Dire Consequences' continues the complex, moribund mix of distorted red mist guitar, stealthy soundtrack manoeuvres and haunted air, but it is Geoff Walker's bowel-bothering, ritualistic horns that scares the most. Following the rustling movements, morbid plainchant and piercing synth streaks of the opening passage, huge, meaty peals of doom slowly swell to circle a rising monolithic totem of swirling feedback. Anyone without sweat in their palms at this stage should be announced as clinically dead.
The final phantasmagorical lap is 'Last Tango', where the opening sense of whispering in the dark builds into a turbulent invocation filled with groans and writhing guitar detritus. The result of these uncapped energies is a Lovecraftian narration - male, American, but slowed to a demonic deadpan delivery - that speaks of "parasites" and "festering wreckages" before dispersing on a whistling wind filled with the chatter of the summoned departing.
What is perhaps easiest to get across about 'Discordant Convergence' (and its preceding two volumes) is the skilled construction of horrific atmospheres that make this album the best choice for the witching hour this Hallowe'en. Particularly the heavy use of vocals, and not just speech but the sounds of breathing - both somnambulant and threatened, that give the otherwise otherworldly layers a more earthly dimension, to feel like we're trapped underground in the darkness, and we're not alone. This combination of video nasty score and foley produces evocative psychodramas whose lack of moving image makes it all the more potent.
What is harder, however, to relate is the complex musical muscles that give the often overpowering mix its depth and charm. Through repeated listens, 'Discordant Convergence' seems to become more structured and accordant - at least to its own inner logic. While it has passages that are both bleak and relentless, these are often deftly positioned over simple, loping rhythms that remind of TG's dirty drum machines, to offer the listener a few footholds before reducing the terrain to rubble once more. If you let it, the complex layers can be deliciously involving, where subsequent investigations are highly rewarding in both a dramatic, narrative way and beyond - as a sensual, and ever so scary, immersion into the darkest areas of the subconscious.