steve nolan

As promised earlier, a return to the spun out of control sound bunker for the second of those essential vinyl occurrences. On this occasion, a 300 only numbered black wax pressing (ours in case you were curious being issue #89) of Steve Nolan’s soundtrack to the 2013 film ‘Sodium Party’. A sweet macabre dappled in lush arrangements whose dream like drift spirits you away to a place lost in reflection and regret, forlorn sculptures beautifully poised, tender, romantic yet neglected and remote, ghostly echoes grieved in mystery and torn with a bitter sweet ache. There’s no denying the acute artistry of Nolan’s sonic choreographing prowess, from the atmospheric grandeur of the trembling key pirouettes as they waltz with classicist gaiety casting lengthening shadows of arcing and undulating waves of euphoria sighs, that to these ears recall instantly, the deft of touch work of Antonymes (best exemplified by the beguiled fragile apparition that is ’party bench’), to the forlorn crush and softly soured brush of the accompanying synth enhanced string swathes, together creating a curiously liberating palette that tugs to and forth between the melancholic and the majestic. The spell is briefly broken with the appearance of ‘drift’. It marks a momentary sea change, for here a glooming fog descends and with it a disconnection and a fragmenting ghost like disquiet spirits away amid its opaque blurring to the onset of ominous droning tides. It’s an effect brought more sharply into focus on the vacant void like hollowing displacement of ‘the cold trap’ and the brooding ‘the bathroom’ whereupon the once lush sound structures are pared down and stripped of their emotion text, in their place a creeping ice chilled isolationism stations itself, the latter particularly pierced in a dread draped psychosis. A souring seduction rears its head gently to the tear stained frailness on the blossoming radiance of ‘the funeral’ its close intimacy tailored with a tracing hinting of Sakamoto leaving the haunting disquiet of the parting ‘the dance’ to gyrate with grim countenance to a pulsing eerie.


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