no more unto the dance….

Again another handsomely packaged release, and for the second time this week another that comes delicately tied up – not a good thing untying when you have shovels for hands and sausages for fingers. Still, packed to bursting with all manner of inserts, badges and other such collectibles and before I forget to say, available in two different variants – ‘dawn’ and ‘night’ – this is the latest sonic study submitted as part of A Year in the Country’s twelve month audiological findings into a lost and forgotten England. ‘no more unto the dance’ is a 40-minute journey down the clubland rabbit hole of a fading memory. A melodic mausoleum, an epitaph to a teen self lost, reconfigured and rewired through the prism of a fond fleeting recollection. As it says in the press release ‘no more unto the dance’ invites you to enjoy this time trip as though a mixtape of 12 inch curios rescued / unearthed from lucky dip picks from the shelves of long since forgotten record emporiums, sub divided into a seamless passage of twelve suites, sound wise its reference points are more to do with a connection to surroundings – the whole vibe to do with the club land, the dressing up, the labels, the scene, the experiences and the fracturing musical sub genres, its spirit clearly in technoid terrains has the feel of the Assembled Minds time travelled back to the mid 90’s on the invitation of Mary Anne Hobbs to drop off a breezeblock guest DJ set. Here from out of the sonic shadows primitive experimentalism and a DIY culture (often crafted in the sparse isolation of bedrooms) are instantly recalled, an underground scene fed upon the preserve of untitled 12 inch white labels put out by imprints signposted only by a PO Box address and tape cassettes hidden under record shop counters and sourced in flea markets (the type of which that usually found themselves sneaked onto Peel playlists and ‘mixing it’ transmissions). A taking by the hand journey down dimly lit back alleys into signless word of mouth back rooms and basements where inside sounds come wired to the hive mind pulse of the underground, a place where Add N to X ghost lights prickle with ominous intent amid a palette populated by LFO trancetones, motoric murmurs, psychotronic disturbias, radiophonic echoes, kosmick pulsars, serene ambient flurries and soundscapes siren calling futureworld dystopias. http://ayearinthecountry.co.uk/