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This new Drekka 12"/LP comprises an interesting mixture of collaborations, live recordings and a couple of tracks originally released on a 3" CDr in an edition of 20. It starts with a beautiful, slow song with Annelies Monsere singing languidly over some ghostly melodic drones before it all gets taken over by a waterfall of static mess, only for that to recede to uncover a newly mutated take on t ...

LP £16.99 DAIS054

Ltd LP on DAIS. Edition of 300 copies.

  • Includes download code.
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Ekki Gera Fikniefnum by Drekka
1 review. Write a review for us »
8/10 Mike Staff review, 05 March 2014

This new Drekka 12"/LP comprises an interesting mixture of collaborations, live recordings and a couple of tracks originally released on a 3" CDr in an edition of 20.

It starts with a beautiful, slow song with Annelies Monsere singing languidly over some ghostly melodic drones before it all gets taken over by a waterfall of static mess, only for that to recede to uncover a newly mutated take on the first half's prettiness, all chopped and scrambled into a weird sleepy bit of concrete drone headfuckery. Then 'Window 7' mixes some creaking, swelling drones and untidy sonic clutter with a very pretty bit of looped guitar recorded in soundcheck from Shane Butler of Quilt. I like how it really sounds like he's in a big empty room. Then we get to the title track, or the first of two title tracks since it is reprised on side B. That's the weirdest number yet, some hyper-present guitar plucks, eerie snippets of child singing, and all manner of fluttering and flopping dronewobble and static chatter, along with some buried icy high pitched drones and solar wind whooshes.

It's a cold and claustrophobic concoction that conjures up feelings of isolation and uncertainty, getting more and more alien and weird as it drifts into rumbly, gloopy oblivion. Its counterpart on the other side keeps similar melodic themes but the approach seems more digi-glitch and less static obliteration. Both quite uncomfortable pieces though. The other track is the 'late night version' of 'Tarwestraat 52', and opens with an incredibly understated passage of tape hiss and distant, intermittent bass drum thuds. It's a bit like that scene in Jurrasic Park when they're in the car and the T-rex is getting closer and they can see the ripples in the cup of water. This goes on for a good five minutes or so and then there's some heavily sustained piano notes with an eerie wibble like manipulated tapes.

I'm starting to think the bass pulse has more of a King Kong human sacrifice feel to it but then some subtle computerised flutters and tweaks start to creep in around the edges of the soundstage shrouded in smoky tape hiss and little cymbal hits, and all this then begins to disintegrate into a mush of chopped up fragments like in the first track. It's a solid EP of creepy late-night drone-pop with an interesting mixture of analogue and digital sounds. Chilly.


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