“All the amps lived to tell the tale”.
This sentence from the press release is indicative. The Eastcote Studios Session – a rare specimen of non-live recording for Borbetomagus – might be an earwax-melting means of redemption for minds too infrequently bewildered. Here more than ever Jim Sauter, Don Dietrich and Donald Miller are barely recognizable as single instrumental entities. Their undivided sound suggests the image of an intelligent beast feeding on shrilling feedback and inhuman pitches, and wearing a T-shirt with a punk transfiguration of Iannis Xenakis.
The trio’s remorseless methods for generating skin-roasting contrapuntal squalls have never been exchanged for something even remotely resembling a measure of compromise. Personal identities are not a priority; establishing once again the brutal traits of a joint anti-mannerism certainly is. However, the two sides of this vinyl LP comprise music that is not exclusively based on trademark Borbetoscreaming. The interplay reveals elements of blinding luminousness, a fondness for everything that throbs and quivers, peculiar rhythmic components emerging from the boiling liquids. This textural wholeness welcomes attentive scrutiny: inside its complexities one can study dynamic shifts and harmonic combinations as if following a score. Nearly incredible – after 37 years of action – is the total absence of hypertrophy: these guys may be getting older, but they’re still a lean, mean fighting machine whose human constituents are naturally gifted with the brash insight of someone who just knows.
Those repelled by so-called noise will continue to think wrongly. In doing that, they’re going to miss a few hundreds crucial details, a honest display of crippled asymmetries (yes, the Feldman pun is intended) and, in a nutshell, 36 minutes that could have rendered them better persons. Meanwhile, Borbetomagus keep realigning deserving listeners with the “right” side of reality.