In the eclectic, mutating world of 21st century independent music, where the internet's most popular buzz genres are ones which sample music, film and adverts from the decades the artists grew up in, and where access to bedroom recording software and MySpace and file sharing, it's becoming increasingly rare that you hear something genuinely new. A band who sound as fresh and revelatory as the cry of your first born child, or as bright and striking as discovering a new colour on the underside of one of Jupiter's moons. There is, as they say, nothing new under the sun.
Until now.
Two prophets have arisen. Dissonant, crackling voices calling in the desert like the Harbringers of the inevitable, divine apocalypse. Two stark figures rising up against a blood red moon, in an image as distinctive and iconic as a shabbily clothed, pale skinned Daft Punk. Two men who have seen the future of Western music, looked into the swirling eye of the storm and from within drawn out the dazzling and terrifying sound of what music is destined for.
Ghosthorse.
Ghosthorse is a duo who hail from the southernmost tip of London. Despite their menacing, prophetic nature, the pair are fully identified as Michael Bateman and Ashley Watkinson, both young men in their early 20s. Both have been involved prolifically in various other projects in recent years, ranging from Watkinson's exploits as techo wizard Pummelhorse to Bateman's majestic electro duo Dude & Catastrophe. However, when the two put their heads together, they conceived debut album The Shoal.
The Shoal is the definition of the word "odyssey". It draws on elements as wide and diverse as you care to name and swirls them together in a discordant yet beautiful display of noise. Opener "The Rain" swirls and wheels like a lost thought in the rain, before harsh swathes of noise distort the ominous keyboard riff and Bateman launches in with a feral, life affirming scream, growling "We have brought this rain upon ourselves, we are men not Gods". "ambiants" thunders, lurches and beeps like the end of time, as if some giant monster were wading through history, annihilating the whole sordid history of Western music as he goes. This album, ladies and gentlemen, is the logical conclusion of the entire history of Western music. It is the full stop. It is the shuddering, glorious yet terrifying signature under musical history, and no other sound need be made from this point forwards.
"Why Why Simon Shippam?", the first Ghosthorse track ever penned (conceived, perhaps fittingly, at a graduation party) bemoans the state of modern man and his incapacity for change, personified in the mysterious "Simon Shippam" of the title. Watkinson finds his keyboards sounding even more apocalyptic than usual on this track, sweeping in with lone, death bringing whipcracks of synth noise. This is followed by the track "Quick, Togepi is Hatching!", the sole track penned and perfomed by Watkinson alone, and it is undoubtedly a highlight, finding him shredding a spasmodic, teetering keyboard solo that will leave you ready to die.
"Hate Machine" is the obvious hit single from the album, but is quickly followed by the album's glittering centrepiece - the 23 minute epic "The Withering Giant"; described humbly by the band as "the only track with any actual music ability displayed on it". Every shift in tempo is reflective of a part of the track's overarching lyrical theme - man kind's fall from grace and need for redemption. Bouncing keyboard riffs, gently gliding synth waves and distorted ukelele lull the track open and are soon joined by a bombardment of beats which make the whole history of dubstep seem miniscule, before the piece's arppegiated keyboard riff soars in like a majestic, glorious eagle, bringing the piece to life. Lyrically inspired shouting from Bateman and spoken word performances from Watkinson lend the track its triumphant philosophical air, and the whole opus climaxes with an inspired and soaring saxophone and keyboard duet. The penultimate movement of the piece chimes with all the glory and redemptive freedom of V Day, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the fall of Thatcherism, the release of POWs. Finally, Watkinson lulls the listener to sleep in his gentle baritone over a keyboard riff which could be a single in and of itself.
The latter half of the album only extends the triumph that the album already evidently was at the end of "The Withering Giant". "Janet Skibbs" swells with post-industrial rage, while Merzdoh uses inspired sampling to create a damning portrait of human ignorance. Closer "Sea of Glass (Clear as Crystal)" ends on an almost circular note, reflecting the opening track. But at this end of the album, things are darker, more distorted and less clear than at the start.
Though in ways, things are more clear. It is clear that, after hundreds of years, Western music has reached its closure. Its final statement. All other sounds created, notes sung, albums crafted, songs writte, solos improvised, orchestras conducted have lead up to The Shoal. All sounds known to man find their resting place in this album. To enjoy it is not the point. To realise it as the towering, inarguable statement that it was inevitably going to become is the point. Discard all your record collections and musical instruments and become part of The Shoal. No other music is necessary. Bateman and Watkinson may bow before their stunned, now silent audience and draw up the curtain behind them, callin fini! upon the entire extravaganza that Western musical history has been. No other music should, or indeed could, ever be played again after The Shoal.
The band are allegedly working on a follow up, with rumours of release for late 2011.
Click here to download The Shoal. Click the red "Slow Download" button on the right.
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