By: “Chad
Patkus | website | twitter | bandcamp | soundcloud |
Released on September 1, 2016 via self-Released
Last year I had the pleasure of reviewing Patkus’ Colors and in the process found an incredibly good songwriter with a penchant for intriguing and sedately music. Fast forwards to now and Patkus is back firing off more introspective gems.
The album starts off excellently, slurring a shoegazey doom-twinged riff repeatedly like trying to remember an order whilst you’re fucked up. It’s strange that the heaviest aspect of ‘Tamam Shud’ is probably the lead string melody that croons delicately over the top of some hazey drums and distant chimes. I can’t help but imagine the track being written with a guitar pick in one hand, the knob of a guitar pedal in the other and a spliff hanging from overhead.
‘The Doorbell Requiem of Catherine Philomena’ carries the serenity through seamlessly; the track succeeds at being a very good approximation of what would happen if Sigur Ros and Stars of The Lid crossed over to make beautifully cinematic ambient post-rock music.
The first significant shift in the album takes place in ‘Three Epicycles (or How a Poem on a Flagpole Told Me She Was Stars)’, there is an ominous almost ritualistic undertone to the piece initially like a hymn or a siren howling in the distance. The track features some of the most toe-curling, purr-inducing layering of waves of distortion that I’ve heard in a while and in that respect reminds me a little bit of Windhand. The unravelling of the track is magnificently well-done, the interlacing rhythms are impressively co-ordinated and each deep swirling layer of ambience serves to hypnotise the listener further into the labyrinthian heart of the album.
The ‘Intermission’ helps further tie the album together and has a strange Mùm-esque quality to it whilst also retaining the idiosyncratic je ne cais quoi of the rest of the album.
‘Tamam Reprise’ takes elements of the first track and spins them into a disorientated flashback to some lost evening. The radiant riff continues to shine at the centre but the surrounding layers seem to drag the song into a fog of immaterial textures always spiralling further and faster around the ears. The reprise fades away leaving ‘No God Rang the Bells’ a curious deserty track that drags the album further away from its noise-twinged core into a more guitar heavy direction. There’s a sense of curiosity and adventure to the track as it ventures further and further outward it almost feel as though a harsh crescendo should arrive but what does is a wide expanse, a reflective chaotic state that almost feels like reaching a real understanding. It’s not serenity, it’s bewilderment and burden like understanding itself.
The albums closer ‘The Minutes’ continues the progression in the album, every plucked rhythm acting as a gallop to new plains in the collection’s thematics. It’s a strange thing to say but, here Patkus finishes the album in a pleasant manner and for probably the first time this year, that has actually been a good thing in music. It’s really not often someone can put a “nice song” on and it’s anything but a smouldering pile of disingenuous shit but, Patkus pulls it off and ends the album at peace like arriving home after a stressful day’s work. This is one for the commuters, this is one for the dreamers.
These Are But Dreaming Men, Breathe and they Fade Away is an astonishing example of how to craft a mellow yet engaging release by an under-appreciated artist with a great skill for crafting songs and albums alike.
