By now I don’t need to think twice about putting my creaky fingers at work when a new Reg Bloor album is announced; I can’t recall my mind refusing even a tiny fragment of her difficult-to-pin-down music. Rarely a single musician on a single instrument – in this case, a trusted Gibson Les Paul Custom – is capable of producing such a mix of harmonic movement, composite rhythms and vitriolic tones within the “concise composition” realm. Bloor uses the word “noise” for her output, but I’m ready to amicably challenge the terminology. This noise contains bacteria of crucial developments that could be spread through the rendition of a contemporary ensemble – say, Zeitkratzer – to become genuine concepts of advanced harmony. There must be a reason for Bloor’s bragging – in an earlier interview – that she was doing all kinds of unacceptable things as a Berklee trainee. What do those mixolydian wankers know?
Indeed there’s some sort of coherent orchestral derangement to be found across the program. The title track is impregnated with quasi-Wagnerian mightiness spiced with caterwauling partials that would expel long-established rats from an abandoned building, with the last bearing a “never coming back” sign. “(You’ll Feel) A Little Pinch” is another snippet of evolution of the Metal Machine Music theory: listen carefully to discover a whole contrapuntal underworld as the rest of the populace is covering the ears in scare. “Desiccated Survivor” – a definition expressing rather accurately this writer’s current shape – sounds like Robert Fripp relearning his tritone arpeggios in reverse after a head hit. “Molotov Cocktail” should not be blasted in the car stereo while driving around the town; the risk is that of being arrested – either for acoustic guerrilla-related crimes, or for having run over a pedestrian without realizing.
Bloor’s actual name is Regina, the Italian for “queen”. As a matter of fact, Sensory Irritation Chamber certifies that she’s the undisputed ruler of strident female guitarism. Kim Gordon who?