#Civilization ii kero kero bonito free#

The second track and single, “Superman That” is more somber in tone–with heavily autotuned repetition of the words “Ain’t no saving me or you.” The beat here, as on most tracks that follow, is absolutely unhinged–shuffling drums and melodic lines that are as melancholy as they are groovy. From the confrontational opening track, they make it clear what the listener is in for–Ritchie strikes a battle rap stance over enveloping synth lines with a verse that verges on mad rambling in the best way possible. The results are unlike anything the group, or any other artist for that matter, have made before. On the newest album from Injury Reserve, rapper Ritchie with a T and producer Parker Corey carve out a new lane for themselves in experimental hip hop, as they grapple with the passing of founding member Stepa J Groggs. But what they do have is the drive and motivation to inspire, to fight back against apathy and negligence with the determination that is inherent to the human condition. Low may not have the answers to these questions. And, in what might be the best track of the album “Days Like These” where Sparhawk and Parker’s vocals are modulated into the drift, the country twang is only accentuated, lending emotion and passion to the message of striving for meaning in times that feel only more apocalyptic by the day. In “Hey,” the whirring drones sound just like the storms that appear over great lakes and plains alike, but instead of a fearsome phenomenon, it’s almost comforting in its size.

#Civilization ii kero kero bonito free#

Nowhere is this shown to greater effect than the far-too-short “More” in which the feedback sounds as if it’s struggling to get free until those angelic voices come back in and wrangle it to a point where it doesn’t sound frightening anymore. No matter how loud the droning becomes, Low’s vocals are stronger, re-affirming the humanity beneath. Coming hot off the heels of Double Negative, in which the electronics and noise threaten to subsume the group’s fragile melody, HEY WHAT is a sharp rebuke of the desire to simply live quietly and hope the storm passes overhead with little damage. And yet, as soon as Sparhawk and Parker begin to harmonize, the message in the static reveals itself. When “White Horses” begins to stutter with static, it’s difficult to believe that this is even the same Low renowned in 90s slowcore. On HEY WHAT, the duo breaks for the opposite realm of the sound barrier, yet still retains the simplistic sensibilities and folk influences that have remained since the beginning. This sentiment of a deeply rooted power is foreshadowed on the opener, “Temporal Control of Light Echoes”, where Moor Mother talks of monsters, gods, and carrying “my mother, your mother, her mother / The mothеr in my womb.” Perhaps the richness of the album lies then in this penetrating power, down through generations, cutting through the noise, flowing as the interstitial fluid within the living breathing organism that is this record.įor years, Low has made a name for themselves by sticking to the quieter side of indie rock. On songs such as “Tarot”, with instrumentation that includes ethereal pipes as well as natural sounds of wind chimes and the rustling of leaves, we are offered a look into a sense of power stored in the trauma of generations.

The messaging of each song feels soulful and spiritual, rather than fiery, or rigid in its politics.

Lyrically, the album centers around black identity, though takes a decidedly less straightforward approach to the politics that surround it. While all sounding ‘wet’ in essence, with a perceptible fluidity of effervescent noise, the songs range in composition from jazzier and traditionally structured to winding experimentation that could double as ambient overlaid with intense spoken word poetry.

More appropriately, it is poetry, performance, and sound art expertly woven into a collection of pieces that are as diverse as they are succinct. The term ‘album’ falls short of adequately describing the beast that is Moor Mother’s Black Encyclopedia of the Air.