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Chironex release their fourth vinyl only LP in a run of stellar outings, which included Part Wild Horses Mane On Both Sides and The Hunter Gracchus. Linear, sedimentary formed artwork wraps this heavy weight slab of vinyl in a primitive motif that echoes the sonics within. The first side houses a huge 17minute blast that kicks off with Gamelan inspired percussion and metallic drones. The sound is rich and expansive, feeling like the scouts of a storm have amassed with invisible bodies; playing impishly amongst the bones of a weathered shipyard. Warm tones ebb in cycles, while the percussion thins and a strangled horn blasts a Fire-styled cry. Vocals holler at a ghostly distance, translucent amongst the din. Chimes and cymbals are met with thudding, hard wooden knocks. Then the horn and drones are left to play with weary gong and vibrations of timid tranquillity. The singing notes that hang behind proceedings add a warmth and continuity that elevate the shorter and coarser improvised ramblings. The middle section is a chorus of crying entities of a vastness beyond that of the oceans largest mammals. There is a tragedy that is both moving, haunting and deeply unsettling, present in these passages. Human, instrument and alien noises cloud in plumes of grey and deep blue. Crying wolves and howling moons seep into the nighttime with scraping breath and rancid claw. The end draws near with an atmosphere that sends shivers down my spine. Guitar is introduced in elongated tones that add a sense of arid landscape to what originally felt like a nautical storm. Then things shuffle to black in an instance.
A violent, caustic piece of organic noise and improvised calamity is struck into existence as if one had stumbled across something that had been spluttering and regurgitating itself for some time. Things become more determinable as the piece unravels, leaving a fractured rhythm that is met with flashes of light and terror. This loose ensemble weaves a sonic path of such acid tinged, narcotic fragments that you can’t help but forget where the fuck you are and drift into your own little world. The third and shortest piece rockets skyward with towering drones that hold the heat and force of several active geysers. Violin and scraping strings accompany the core tones in what I can only describe as one of the greatest ascensions of primitive sound I have ever heard. It holds a truly unbreakable trance that extends its 5minute life to a seemingly endless existence; like some fuck-up of physics, or the true understanding of time without observed natural decay. The final motion is filled with a lot of hope, and rides with comparative joyousness. There is an almost country feel to the structure, although very distorted. The journey, like all Chora’s best work, is restless and finds avenues of exploration around what could be a solid path to tread. There are more nods to Fire jazz playing in this piece, yet the primitive organic nature of the overall sound pallet allow for a richer and more humane listen. The various instruments twist and arch in suffocating formations, yet the violin stays at the core of proceedings, adding this country feel that manages to embrace another feeling with exquisite abandonment. The latter playing of strings, sounding like some kind of eastern fiddle, is utterly spellbinding. The piece closes with alarm calls and a feeling of farewell from a nights playing. I imagine a fire dwindling to orange embers, as I walk to black with the sound gradually fading from view. 9/10 -- Foxy Digitalis (31 March, 2010)