Jazzfinger - "Gates of Failure" c60 (Gods of Tundra)

Jazzfinger is the Newcastle, UK based duo of Ben Jones and Hasan Gaylani. They have been releasing material since god knows when. I haven't listened to too much of it, but what I have heard I have been really impressed by. Lots of different sounds, often surprisingly laid-back in its approach, always compelling.

Pretty fast moving stuff here at first. Side A (Pursue The Voice) starts in with a rusty see-saw scream, soon surrounded by muchos scrapes. The sounds are cut with sharp edges - they definitely penetrate deeply. But for all the free sheet-metal gliding that goes on above, there is an equal element of brooding fog drone-tap-in-tap-out FF bellowing below.The moments when these two planes slide together and bustwash fuzz portrait of preexisting golden genes are the best. When the jams get locked into all out spirit war underneath the audible surface and only the overwoofed buzz-mist floats through is when it really gets cookin'. Honey, we burned the butter. Yummy smell for an hour. She smacked his steel plate repeatedly. Did you listen? Or did you listen to the days news? Some kind of trans-obliteration, La Monte would be pissing his pants.

Almost Skaters-esque tape-up plug-ins and outs all of a sudden. Marking time with the occasional cyber scream, liberty bell, or spoken transmission. Somehow, I can still hear my shirt rustle. Sort of casual wear.

Side B (Brink of Infinity) comes in on a much more limited spectrum. More of a classical drone composition. Slowly augmenting the sound with mixing-ins of higher frequencies. This is best subdude, maxed-out crud jams for real. Almost nothing to orient oneself with. Diving in and out of baskets of overloaded drone drizzle, with the occasional static solo sketching on the roof. Long-time cultivated, cultivators of long-ended land magnets. It takes its time. There is no fucking rush. Oscillating between earth and sky, sinking and flying, a movement here, a fried overtone there. A very generous offering.

Sure this stuff is some bleak inner/innerer groove, but it isn't utterly without contact with the outter-space. It is committed. It doesn't come up for air because it doesn't have to. Get comfortable with the see no nothing lifestyle, because it is blackened windows and blackened glasses on this rip-roar of a good time pulse interference tape.