Our younger selves would have loved Rendez-vous, whose propulsive cold-wave sounds like The Rapture if they had re-prioritised Hot Snakes over P.I.L., or Nitzer Ebb after a mostly unsuccessful holiday in the cyberpsychosis clinic.
Yes, our younger selves, all spit and spunk and skinny trousers, would have lost their shit to Rendez-Vous’ nuclear air-raid guitar sirens, disciplined party drumming and crypto-romantic exhortations, really-really immersed in the blinding confusion of the chemical dancefloor.
We would have dropped Workout right after Les Savy Fav’s The Sweat Descents, and watched the world burn.
Obviously, our current, stabilised and settled selves also love Rendez-Vous, but in a way that is not as pure. Get their excellent Distance 12’’ from AVANT Records.
Koban blaze slower, but with equal power. Their tools and tropes may be those of the minimal wave insurgence, but their spirit is anything but cold. Instead, they shake and coil furiously like a synthetic reincarnation of Crass thrashing in the vats of Haas-Bioroid corporation.
We find Illusion particularly engrossing, a children’s mobile from Eraserhead whose weird facets spin in impossible synchrony: a macabre cha-cha-cha, a primeval rumble full of Death Valley ‘69 threat, holograms of Bettany West hovering above the storm like a mutant seer with psychic blade fingers.
We don’t think it is of this world. We don’t know where it draws its energy from. We just know that it was here, and then it’s gone, and we’re like, wha.