This is dark, lonely music; terrifying in one respect and cruelly honest. And within this rawness, this discord, there are wonderful moments.
One of the wonders of Berlin is its mixture of people, cultures, influences. This mix in turn attracts others and the brew becomes even more diverse and varied. For years Germany’s capital has been a flame to would-be music moths, sometimes its attractiveness belying the difficulties of rising rents and the city’s own economic woes.
But that’s what makes Berlin, its uncertainty is part of its charm.
Since 2012 Marco Berardi has fostered Arboretum, a collective of sound and visuals. The 27 year old Italian knows “the situation has started to change quite… due mostly to the speculation over the huge amount of people that move here.” Yet there’s optimism, a hope that the ever steady rise of those moving to Berlin won’t dilute the “unique” and “artistic” quality of this historic place.
Berardi is not just a founder of Arboretum, he’s an artist himself. Before release a Mogano he started out with “early death-black metal to more post rock ones and producing on my own some early electronics with dub influences.” Despite music being part of his life, it was the meeting of “Andrea Familari aka FAX a visual designer” that sparked the imprint into existence.
And the imprint is building its catalog, the latest coming from 3TH and Repitch veteran Davide Carbone under his Honzo mask.
Using the frames of Basic Channel, Carbone casts long arching shadows. Rhythms are slow, gnawing and gnarled. Strings are wrenched, pulled and plucked. Coldness swirls, pieces like “Orientalism” chills to the bone with thump keeping the listener tethered to this world. And this record does thump, however not in the way you might think. Drums labour and lumber, fizz filled strings grunting into position. Faster BPMS, as in “Moral Masochism (Shadows Remix)”, don’t mean the floor; rather a different mental burrowing. “Lovesickness” slackens the ferocity, but again it is rhythms that rule. Stumbling, staggering, percussion attempts to grab hold of something but Honzo refuses to give support as he showers static. Engines how, pistons try and pump, gears clatter. In some respects the 12” is like being inside the hull of an aging ship. Groaning metal. Drips. Intensity surrounds. Until a respite. Until the close. “Emptiness (Vinyl Cut)” is emotion drenched. A short, wonderful, brutalised ambience to cleanse.
I had to listen to Melancholia a good few times to get an idea of what it was about. I’m still not sure I totally understand. This is dark, lonely music; terrifying in one respect and cruelly honest. And within this rawness, this discord, there are wonderful moments.
Melancholia isn’t a record I’ll be pulling out for family and friends, it won’t be one to warm up to with mates before a night out. This is a 12” to endure, a penance to reflect upon and a style that is uncompromisingly demanding.
Melancholia is available on Arboretum.
