vukovar

Now perhaps my ears need checking, not least because of late, especially following treatment, I’ve learnt to listen to the sounds, the creaks and the tiniest of changes in this shell we call a body. But then I’d like to think I’m a veteran at picking out sounds and so it’s not our ears failing when we hear something which, to put it bluntly, sounds as though it’s crept off an old black n’ white film, once a thing of dream like fantasia now disturbed by a nightmarishly unsettling fracturing. This be Vukovar, a collective who have a rare though sometimes troubling, knack of relocating a listener to a place of isolation, a rare craft if you can pull it off, see Nurse with Wound, Throbbing Gristle et al. Released earlier in the year in an edition of just 61 lathe cut copies, ‘Decameron (10 days of violence)’ weaves ominously like a chilled foretelling, a light refracting wilderness charmed by the deceptive beckoning of hymnal trims and the warm welcoming of twinkling ivories and child play all of which descend into a twisted haunting eerie.

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