Just in time for the new cold war (is that what it is?) comes Neon Lies on Berlin-based Black Verb Records. Chilly synthpunk meets … well, it’s chilly synthpunk, you probably aren’t going to get a better descriptor out of me than that. And that’s OK – Neon Lies, from Zagreb, Croatia, is under a distinct historical curtain from which this type of music is a perfect escape, a dancepolitik of dissatisfaction with a sharpened steel Eastern European edge. Trebly crashes punctuate minimalist black-clad songcraft, nocturnal nightclub culture abuts deeply rooted urban ennui.
Neon Lies can’t tell us anything we don’t know, but it’s nothing we don’t already believe. Or, uh, what we refuse to believe. I keep mixing those up. It’s all in the context.
This is the sound of digging in to a long occupation. The sound of small rebellion. The chipping away at the status quo. Neon Lies has tapped the pulse of frustration and used its blood on its sonic canvas. Still, wear sunglasses always, so no one can determine your loyalties. The truth is in the eyes.
Neon Lies
Black Verb Records
--Ryan
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