It is not everyday that 20JFG gets to feature contemporary politicised Serbian electro-body-pop music of a beauty and energy such that it flares over the cardboard industrial complex of the nouveau fashion zombies turning them into statues of ash which are then projected against concrete walls, like the nuclear shadows of humans caught in the midst of a party, a political rally, or both (they can be the same, or be made to be the same).
Ponder on the idea of pop as a dual use technology that can work as the framework for a debauch, but also a Samizdat for the transmission of subversive ideas and emotions. Also on the idea of industrial music not as a fashion statement or perversity token which is chosen or even surrendered to, but a reflex against authoritarianism, and the manifestation of a love/hate affair with technology developed while growing-up in the ground zero of a highly probable mechanised holocaust.
Get your cerebral cortex scraped by the wild convolutions of the most paranoid roland-burst we have had the pleasure of contending with since the halcyon days of Adult.
Find an outlet to discharge the energy outputs thus generated. Heat. Dance. Friction. Action.
We assume the name of Norwegian group ‘Three Winters’ is inspired by the disruption of the seasons that, it is said, will be an omen for the start of Ragnarok. Their Atrocities EP certainly has a sense of foreboding and dread that, in becoming dominant and routinised, connects it to the romantic ballads beneath a gunmetal sky of the cold wave desperados, and the noises that can be heard outside of Le Hague’s electro-torture bunkers.
We rejoice in the Italo tropes butchered in the title track – the gothic throb and the operatic excess, the synthesised chanting unforgettable like the Morricone theme for a Mexican stand-off at the dead zone, that four to the floor rhythm that mimics the pulse of a chase and the metronomic swing of the back-alley stabbing which is its culmination.
If Atrocities looked like something, it would be Venise’s Playboy after an eternity spent in the House of Usher, falling, decaying. We’d take him back to ours, without a doubt.