The Slaves - Grey Angel (Paradigms Recordings)

For centuries Christian rule had instilled in its followers a powerful emphasis on penitence derived from guilt, as well as the constant reminder that death and judgement are just around the corner. Based in Portland, Oregon, The Slaves make the kind of music that Polar Bear might if he was brought up hardcore catholic and with an unshakable fear of God. Layered in ambient synths and shrouded in a dark celestial presence, the duo’s debut Grey Angel drives home an old-school gothic affair of chants and drones by candlelight.

From what I’ve said it’s not surprising then that their music is missing some life and energy to it. Their quasi religious meditations become electronic funeral music in which you can almost hear the howling of bored ghosts. Ponderous and moody, each track structure does little else besides drift idly on modal key signatures in a grey and empty sea.

Actually I’m being a bit mean there. Having once lived in the North West of America I’m all too familiar with the Atlantic Ocean, where its silent, cold waters meet the forest covered shores near Portland. Understandably, it would have had an influence on The Slaves prayerful drones; the sense of peace and humility you might feel as you stare out at an ocean’s ancient horizon.

‘You Can Save Me’ sets the scene right from the start. Reeaaalllyyy sssllloooww drawn out chords block out any bit of light seeping in from the cracks, filling the stereo space and building up towering sonic cathedrals that glare down at you. Soaked in reverb, Barbara Kinzle’s voice groans away in a low register. ‘Visions’, two tracks later, employs a cavernously deep and muffled drumbeat with stain glass synths that hints towards Vangelis. At the exact point I grew weary of the ominous tone dragging its way through the album, halfway through ‘Angel’, the last track, everything resolves effortlessly like a kind of divine forgiveness. It’s this superb finish, as well as the sonorous harmonies and atmosphere that rescues Grey Angel from being one long downer.

(© Copyright 2011 Brendan Morgan)

Washed Out - Within and Without (Sub Pop Records)

It wasn’t all that long ago that Life of Leisure EP blazed through the blogsphere taking its creator Ernest Greene out of his bedroom and on a multi-country tour. Like many who’d heard the record or the single ‘Feel It All Around’, I was captivated by the euphoric and dreamy mood constructed from sun kissed synths and a slow pounding club beat – everything sounding as if it was fed through the warm hiss of cassette tape. It was a staggeringly beautiful record and rescued me from the tedium of a hot summer spent at work. I recommended it to anything with ears.

Reacting to the chorus of praise from the internet, a career was kicked into gear swifter than a Tesco’s going up in Bristol. But I’ll tell you now, Within and Without rises to the challenge. It may lack the sublime impact the debut had but on hearing the same lazy pop-tronics, the same rich wave of light and colour, the same veiled vocal harmonies of soothing sibilance; it ticks all the right boxes. In no time, his loved-up party tunes could easy eclipse bigger acts like Calvin Harris.

Of course, Life of Leisure wasn’t a perfect debut. ‘Soft’ and ‘Far Away’ make up a vacant and watery interlude that rehashes some of the same mistakes. But I’ve heard it said that as long as the opening and ending are good people don’t worry about the middle. ‘Before’ brings the sun back out with its big beat and cool voice sample hook. At 2:27 into the title track, a familiar song structure dematerialises into a pool of twinkling synthesizers. This fades into ‘A Dedication’ where a simple piano tune and Greene’s singing on top (the only time his voice shines clear in the mix) closes the album on an intimate note.

I ended my first review uncertain whether Washed Out could survive the nihilistic frenzy of internet hype. It was stupid to feel so protective and it will be great to see how deep into sensation and psychedelic disco he’ll go. Take it with you to this summers festivals or road trips. Memories await a soundtrack.

(© Copyright 2011 Brendan Morgan)