I wish I were more finely attuned at deducing the quality and
caliber of a musical project’s output via assessing their nom du guerre. Fun
fact: there are simply far too many great recording artists out there with
unassuming (read: terrible) names! Here, I just couldn’t get behind the name
“OverScan” to further investigate the artist. It just took me waaaaay to much
time to actually think about those compounded terms and their relationship with
my own personal narrative. There was nothing catchy or quirky or witty to me about
the name. If this brilliant artist weren’t part of Constellation Tatsu’s spring
batch, paired with Sarah Holyfuckingshitsofuckingawesome Davachi, I’m fairly
certain all my spring break naps and painting sessions would have been devoid
of these sweet swells of dark/cosmic bliss forever,…and that’d be a crime far
worse than savvy self-promotion.
This tape opens with “Old Haunts”, sounding
like some wayward angels tuning up in a slimy cave somewhere, their trebly
beams of smoky light shimmering outward absentmindedly to play about the
glistening, groggy walls and ruffled backs of pissy rodents who have ceased to
care less about all celestial jam sessions henceforth. After the midpoint evacuation,
a slowed down, near doom-metal bassy black shadow plods along, threatening to
lure attention from all them higher, shinier Hz of life…until the end, where it
decides to shave a few layers off itsownself (the doom-metal bassy black
shadow) and join them Hz in their higher ranks of unholy matrimony.
Track two, “the Next Morning”, could
be a candid Stars-of-the-Lid-meets-new-age-tribute-band performing; not at a
singular wake, but for an entire constellation of cemeteries, for a hundred
years. Straight. The feeling is paceless; a deconstruction of repetition, as if
saying the same thing over and over and over again would only mean the first
sentiment; double plus sad synths wash upon the shores of sorrow or
something…but the kicker is the young, devil-may-care field recordings
patiently washing in and out, knowing no grievances with death, but simply kicking
up sand and shiny surf within those waves; reminding us of new life summoned
from such interplay.
“Terrorvision”, to keep this review more
concise, sounds like a summary of what Atreyu might have felt like internally
as Artex slowly drowned in quicksand, horse eyes stoically blinking in slow
motion…Fuck it. I can’t say enough about how brilliantly composed this
collection of sounds is, so, maybe, instead, you ought call my bluff and find
out for yourself via the links below. Also, sorry, but the aforementioned SHFSSFAD
tape sold out before I could even get a copy, so maybe just copy her songs for
free onto a cassette tape yourself and then throw money into an envelope and
send it to Canadia when you get a chance.
and/or
-
- Jacob An Kittenplan
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