The name, apparently, is an anagram of some fool reviewer’s facetious attempts at humour. The latest swipe in the eternal squabble between artist or critic, or cheeky new taxonomic method for branding projects? Whichever reasoning one adopts, it’s difficult to argue with the blistered charm of these burbling, warty expulsions, the four tracks apparently only the start of a viscous stream of semantically-challenged gulps blurting out from the BOL bandcamp.
Opener Brunei Rigs Nuns is a node-encrusted fart of amphibian drone-bliss, as if some hipster toads had formed a Vibracathedral Orchestra tribute band and gurgled through their longform klang-mantras, joyous champions of the pond. Fleshy squelch meets electro bliss, as luminously fetid as sunbeams through the algal murk. It’s relatively short, but goodly stinky.
There’s a nod to dark ambient pose in the rainstorm smush of Cobalt/Trauma Eel, although the mix is far more dynamic than the stuck twilight of your average gloom merchant. Spooky synth tones quickly give way to a mewling mess of mechanical gurgle and tannoy gasp, the cacophony spewing out all in maximalist dudgeon. Both this and the following cut, Anagram Liar, are characterized by clever editing and smart sound design, giving them a classic musique concrete feel – and while I can’t vouch for the compositional methodology deployed, there’s a dense, tangible heft on display that’s both disorienting and impressive. Cobalt/Trauma Eel calms down into a rhythmic grind after the halfway mark, yet still has enough clout to leave an impressive psychic residue, while Anagram Liar hisses and spits in plastic fury right up until the final seconds.
Maximum derangement is, however, reserved for A Fondly If In, which racks up an imperial weight of modular-inspired burble and screech. White noise gristle and moist cellular gloop expands out in every direction, the blurry cycles of reproductive evolution like some hyper-accelerated virus, its sudden cuts rendered even more nerve wracking by the hypnotic attraction of the frenetic, teeming sonic micro-fibres inhabiting your listening space. As infectious as a mouldy haddock.