Mueran Humanos’ seductive dirge sounds like the missing link between La Dusseldorf and a squadron of cadaverous 4AD artists, or Indian Jewelry performing a macabre tango, like black raven wings spreading from a shadowy corner in your messy bedroom, dark bliss palpitates alluring hidden inside a shroud of cobwebs, perhaps 20JFG’s new favourite band for days of torrential rain and wind whistling malevolent against the rattling windows of the decaying Victorian manor where we dwell despondent.
Horas Tristes is a funereal march across the long empty corridors of a Berlin apartment where time and space stretch supernatural like the shadows hiding Catherine Deneuve’s nightmares in Repulsion, cracks bloom in the walls like the buds of poisonous flowers, a TV screen at the back stares back at you, lost in a graveyard of death channels interspeded by snippets of black and white surrealist hallucinations, cruel razorblades slide shiny eyeballs, not nice, but beautiful.
I can’t believe I haven’t written about Kalte Sterne before. This is perhaps my favourite Neubauten jam, the chugging of a coal-powered phantom train carrying a crew of deranged Section 8 cannibals across the dead tracks of a Carpenterian landscape of ruin and dereliction, or perhaps black blood pumped into the sclerotic circulatory system of a moribund industrial collossus by the last stertors of its once powerful, now collapsing heart. Which is totally it, if you ask me.