It felt like a terrifying nightmare emerging from nowhere, ready to consume you whole, a fever dream filled with ominous sounds and echoes of Present, Univers Zero, Frank Zappa, and Magma blended into one hallucinogenic psychedelic smoothie. Of course, I’m talking about Swedish multi-instrumentalist Simon Steensland. Steensland began his musical journey as a drummer at the age of 17, and by 1991 he had turned his attention to composition, writing music for theatre productions while embarking on a solo career that has produced eight albums since 1993, beginning with The Simon Lonesome Combat Ensemble.
His latest album, Explosion of Bad Music, is the third instalment in a trilogy that began with 2015’s A Farewell to Brains and continued with 2021’s Let’s Go to Hell. Embracing the darker corridors of the Rock in Opposition (RIO) movement while carrying its torch into the present day, Steensland guides listeners into worlds that are anything but rosy or comforting. There are no sanitised fairy tales here, only unsettling landscapes, twisted imagery, and music that refuses to play by anyone else’s rules. In many ways, the album feels like a declaration that avant-garde music can still be dangerous.
Here, Simon pushes listeners into uncharted territory with zero compromises and no apologies. The two centrepiece tracks, ‘Not Dragon’ and ‘Dragon’, clock in at roughly 27 and 26 minutes respectively. That’s how he gets the job done, unveiling wildly chaotic compositions that feel like powder kegs waiting to explode at any second.
With a cast that includes Morgan Ågren (Frank Zappa, Devin Townsend, Magma, Kaipa, Mats/Morgan), Amanda Krüger, Markus Eriksson, Robert Elovsson, Mike Johnson (Thinking Plague), Yann Le Nestour, and Karolina Weber Ekdahl, among others, Steensland has assembled an impressive ensemble. Together, they help bring Explosion of Bad Music to life, carrying the fiery torch of RIO and avant-prog while expanding upon the foundations laid by the genre’s pioneers.
Listening to the opening piece, ‘Not Dragon’, you’re immediately greeted by a frenetic drum pattern before the music erupts into a roaring inferno that seems intent on terrorising the townsfolk. As I’ve mentioned before, this isn’t some cheerful Disney fantasy, folks.
The composition soon evolves into a Danny Elfman-esque arrangement in which the ensemble guides us through an unexpected danse macabre, combining shades of Arnold Schoenberg, the Mystic Knights of the Oingo Boingo, the Köhntarkösz-era of Magma, and Present. From there, the musicians build momentum with remarkable chemistry, each performer feeding off the others as the piece continues to mutate and expand.
The music eventually shifts toward the accordion, leading us through the bloody aftermath of a world gone horribly wrong, evoking the dystopian visions George Orwell explored in 1984. It feels like wandering through a ghost town consumed by decay. Electric guitars rise from the depths like creatures emerging from hidden caves, revealing a landscape filled with trepidation, shrieks, and unease. There are flashes of Roger Trigaux’s vision during the Le Poison Qui Rend Fou years, along with touches of Heldon and Robert Fripp woven into the madness.
The final ten minutes find Steensland paying tribute to the Italian progressive-rock group Pierrot Lunaire, particularly their Gudrun era. The vocal performances evoke the chilling spirit of Welsh soprano Jacqueline Darby, their haunting tones capable of sending shivers down your spine in an instant. Alarms sound throughout the concluding section, creating a chaotic chutes-and-ladders atmosphere as operatic female vocals seem to descend from Valhalla itself, unleashing disorder and preparing listeners for the musical carnage that follows.
‘Dragon’ closes the album with an ominous string-led passage, setting the stage for a blood-red sun rising over a devastated landscape. We witness the aftermath of the destruction and disturbing imagery Steensland has carefully constructed throughout the album. Militant drum patterns emerge, yes, militant drums, marching forward like participants in a gothic funeral procession.
The instruments gradually reveal a futuristic interplay between bass and female vocals, weaving together a strangely beautiful melodic framework. The music steadily climbs toward a realm that feels connected to Christian Vander’s vision and Present’s parallel universe, building tension piece by piece while preparing sinister chants that lurk just beyond sight. Once again, Steensland’s admiration for Magma is unmistakable, serving as both inspiration and a launching point for his own ideas as he pushes beyond the territory explored in ‘Ork Alarm’.
As I sit here finishing this review while playing Gears of War 2 on my Xbox, I find myself wondering how Simon Steensland continues to generate such boundless creativity within the avant-prog and RIO worlds. Perhaps it’s because he’s always one step ahead, constantly searching for new ways to challenge both himself and his audience.
Is it demanding? Absolutely. Does it require repeated listens? Without question. But Explosion of Bad Music is not merely an album, it’s an experience, a descent into beautiful madness that rewards those brave enough to follow it. Years from now, when many records have faded from memory, this one will still be lurking in the shadows, daring listeners to enter its world once again.
