Sons of Frida: Burn
It is equal parts dissonant anarchy, driving post-rock/math-rock and lyrics that could soundtrack a descent into madness. Despite its almost crushingly tumultuous sound, the album is cohesive and engaging, pulling you under with a riptide of noisy rock and deliciously dark tones.
There is a decidedly bi-polar feeling to this record, as it throws in occasional, fleeting moments of melodic bliss before the music descends once again into the chaos, where you find a juddering mix of clashing guitars, prominent, driving bass lines and heavy, tight drumming.
From the dichotomy of dissonance and harmony, to the occasional haunting trumpet that pierces through the layers of guitars and the hint of a French accent hiding behind the English lyrics, this is a record that is in a constant struggle with itself, forever reinforcing the ever so slight discomfort that you get from such an intense musical experience.
But, while The Bulgarian LP embraces the dark fragments of the human spirit and displays them with candour, it never lets those fragments take a complete hold. Like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, there is a glimmer of harmony that peppers the record that can’t be shaken. The album is a glorious cacophony, a pulsing landscape of dark discord and dissatisfaction cut with the sweetest flickers of light.