SIGNAL TO NOISE

If fans were disappointed or not with Pink Floyd's The Endless River, well it turns out that long-time and still current PF engineer and knob twirler Andy Jackson has a little surprise for you! The album is called "Signal to Noise" and please be prepared for a scarce sonic ride that will shock your senses in the most interstellar way possible, a strange brew of classic 60s psychedelic and modern accoutrements.

Murky, atmospheric and loaded with those peculiar monotone vocals that made the Flying Pig such a draw, the opaque electronics are marshaled by a thrilling bass that is very much in Waters' style, thick and meaty. Truth is this recording is not as overtly Floydian than some other bands out there, as Jackson gives the music some serious edgy qualities which the recent Gilmour-led band has long ago abandoned to more silky meadows. From the menacing pounding of "The Boy in the Forest" that kicks off the album, and the following tracks that seem to bleed into the other, there is a focused sense of mayhem that seeks to exalt and extol the virtues of space-rock, plodding and most ominous indeed. On the vital "One More Push" there is even a little hint of The The (Do you remember "Gravitate to Me"?, yeah, oily Floyd!) as well as some of the other post-punk, goth and psychedelic bands, like The Church, so again this will be an eye and ear opener for those who dare. Because it's a producer album, one might fear an over-polished set-list of a too clever noise factory but the bass-fueled grittiness is simply delirious. Yes there is a tremendous Gilmourian solo on "Spray Paint" but the majority of the tracks retain a veil of smoky gloom that is utterly attractive, with way darker interferences than one would expect, luminous shades loaded with hissing and crackling sounds, glittering distortions and see-saw rhythms. Despondent vocals abound, echoed in soporific film, flavored with marshmallow twinkle and floating purple ponds, as a meddling guitar slices through the obscured clouds.

Though all the tracks are uniformly noncommercial and hence outstanding, the apoplectic "Brownian Motion" takes the proverbial cake, left over icing included, a swerving, monstrous, cacophonous wretch that consumes loads of Bauhaus, The Danse Society and Joy Divison psychosis , layered all over its entrails, coiling, seething and flicking its venomous tongue at all who dare approach.

There is an island in the endless river, a foreboding place shrouded in mist, emitting a highly audible signal to noise. The album packaging and artwork are, as one would expect, enigmatic and thrilling.

4.5 clatter signs