Daddy Tank, Part 3 - The Trance
23 June, 2013
Time for another dip into the Daddy Tank, kids. And today, we’re slipping down the deep end, into the single release from duo Hangin Freud, Sunken. Ay – this is dark stuff, folks. Vocalist Paula Borges is the central enigma of the act, as her dejected, strained vocals seem disturbingly natural; meanwhile, Jonathan Crane provides minimal, organic accompaniment on guitars, pianos, and other unknown sounds. Together, the two craft a bleak, nocturnal world, of no cosmic or hellish dimension, but so hauntingly close that you may feel slightly paranoid long after the music fades.
As I said before, Sunken is ominous. Just listen to the terrifying title track that kicks off the album – the electric guitar strikes jagged chords, as Laura tells the morbid tale of a drowning woman in a suitably drear fashion. “Truce”, too, advances forth with a sinister riff, and Paula’s calm but woeful vocals, paired with her ghostly cries and eerie hums, are riveting enough to lull you into a trance. (I certainly was.)
Still, as with Pang’s The Garden of Menace, the spaces and crevices of Sunken are as haunting and awe-inspiring as its content. “Medusa” is a eerily sparse acoustic tune, laced with ambiguous whooshes and mechanical static – but then the song is consumed entirely by a 40-second ambient section, of deep reverberating hums and a relentless swooshing, immersive enough to engulf the listener into its bleak emptiness. Another stark track, “Keep It”, is driven only by a steady tom beat and a slow snap, as organ synths hang overhead and a guitar creeps in and out. Behind, you can hear the electric snapping of an archaic recording device, which swells and oozes into the track, and sparks of static suggest that this very track is decaying before our eyes, fading out into oblivion.
The acoustic piano also adds to this desolate world on several occasions. In “Speak in Tongues”, its dream-like progression stands alone besides Paula, rendering a surreal but uncomfortably close feel to the track. That discomfort is soon amplified by the unintelligible electric voices that begin to infest the fringes of the track, as well the icy glaze of synths and the ponderous strings on the bridge. The poignant, sorrowful chords on “We Are Not” ring throughout the chamber, as strange creaks like pulleys or ancient wagons clink in the background. These chords often spiral into demented descents, until eventually a second piano hammers violently over the first. “Wasted”, on the other hand, swirls with spirits of droning echoes and strings, and the piano plucks staggered, drooping notes within.
“Swamp”, the album’s “single” (it was, after all, released as a free download on Daddy Tank’s Bandcamp page), is perhaps the most accessible track on the album, but no less haunting. Borne by a lonesome guitar strum, this droning tune is spiked by loud handclaps and a repetitive electric strum, rendering this one as almost meditative (for those that meditate to noise, anyway). The closer “In The City”, on the other hand, opens on an unsettling string of echoing, disjointed guitar, before settling on one despondent strum and a distant, single drum; the vague ringing in the distance, however, does not fade, and the song crawls on warily through Paula’s bewitching choruses to a quiet resolution.
With a total running time of 29 minutes, Sunken is shockingly short for an LP – shockingly, I say, because these brief tracks are so wholly immersive, so murkily atmospheric, that one feels time dissipate and scatter away. Daddy Tank is still rocking their Summer Algorithm sale, so now’s the best time to sink into Hangin Freud – buy it here as either a CD or cassette (or both – why not?) and receive one extra album in return. Win.
As I said before, Sunken is ominous. Just listen to the terrifying title track that kicks off the album – the electric guitar strikes jagged chords, as Laura tells the morbid tale of a drowning woman in a suitably drear fashion. “Truce”, too, advances forth with a sinister riff, and Paula’s calm but woeful vocals, paired with her ghostly cries and eerie hums, are riveting enough to lull you into a trance. (I certainly was.)
Still, as with Pang’s The Garden of Menace, the spaces and crevices of Sunken are as haunting and awe-inspiring as its content. “Medusa” is a eerily sparse acoustic tune, laced with ambiguous whooshes and mechanical static – but then the song is consumed entirely by a 40-second ambient section, of deep reverberating hums and a relentless swooshing, immersive enough to engulf the listener into its bleak emptiness. Another stark track, “Keep It”, is driven only by a steady tom beat and a slow snap, as organ synths hang overhead and a guitar creeps in and out. Behind, you can hear the electric snapping of an archaic recording device, which swells and oozes into the track, and sparks of static suggest that this very track is decaying before our eyes, fading out into oblivion.
The acoustic piano also adds to this desolate world on several occasions. In “Speak in Tongues”, its dream-like progression stands alone besides Paula, rendering a surreal but uncomfortably close feel to the track. That discomfort is soon amplified by the unintelligible electric voices that begin to infest the fringes of the track, as well the icy glaze of synths and the ponderous strings on the bridge. The poignant, sorrowful chords on “We Are Not” ring throughout the chamber, as strange creaks like pulleys or ancient wagons clink in the background. These chords often spiral into demented descents, until eventually a second piano hammers violently over the first. “Wasted”, on the other hand, swirls with spirits of droning echoes and strings, and the piano plucks staggered, drooping notes within.
“Swamp”, the album’s “single” (it was, after all, released as a free download on Daddy Tank’s Bandcamp page), is perhaps the most accessible track on the album, but no less haunting. Borne by a lonesome guitar strum, this droning tune is spiked by loud handclaps and a repetitive electric strum, rendering this one as almost meditative (for those that meditate to noise, anyway). The closer “In The City”, on the other hand, opens on an unsettling string of echoing, disjointed guitar, before settling on one despondent strum and a distant, single drum; the vague ringing in the distance, however, does not fade, and the song crawls on warily through Paula’s bewitching choruses to a quiet resolution.
With a total running time of 29 minutes, Sunken is shockingly short for an LP – shockingly, I say, because these brief tracks are so wholly immersive, so murkily atmospheric, that one feels time dissipate and scatter away. Daddy Tank is still rocking their Summer Algorithm sale, so now’s the best time to sink into Hangin Freud – buy it here as either a CD or cassette (or both – why not?) and receive one extra album in return. Win.