Washed Against The Rocks [7-inch; Handmade Birds]

Dominick Fernow’s mutability keeps me fascinated. Even narrowing his oeuvre down to his Prurient moniker the range of styles is vast. Compare the ashen, nigh-drone, emptiness of Time Began in a Garden or The Golden Chamber to the sanity destroying noise washes of The Black Vase or Pleasure Ground, versus the polarizing clarity and rhythmic foundation of Bermuda Drain and you’ll get the picture. He appears to not care what you think or if you are even listening.

Washed Against the Rocks is no exception to his apparent disregard for audience, and be thankful for it. Yes, there are the migraine inducing pitches that we all bought the ticket for and that make the noise “purists” (how can that even be a thing) get tumescent. Also on display are beats, an ever increasing sense of composition, and something bordering on beauty. Noise may be all about mood and texture, but here is something treading dangerously close to emotion, something with a sense of time and loss. There is supposed to be another Prurient album coming sometime this year, and I’m not sure if I want it to be like this single or not.


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