The fascinating musical pivot of visual artist Richie Culver continues with a new album of static-burned concrète, save room ambience and off-the-dome, infected Northern poetry. The UK's rusted cultural wreckage has rarely sounded more barbed or visceral - consider it essential listening if yr into Kathy Acker, Klein, Mark Leckey, Throbbing Gristle, Werkbund.
Where Culver’s solo debut left us shivering shoreside with his dank depiction of leaving his small northern English town for the bright lights, ‘Hostile Environment’ is about returning home, and defining himself in its relief. The album finds him in noumenal dialogue with the Proustian ohrwurm of Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’; one of the first songs that really made an impression on him, and in his own words “explained how I was feeling in this little town as a 10 year old.” In Richie’s hands, the song becomes a synecdoche for feelings of nostalgia in hauntological contexts, transposed to the dark nether fields of Yorkshire’s liminal zones of transition, and providing anchor for a transient sense of self.
Like another northern English artist whose work rivets us - Mark Leckey - Culver short circuits definitions of high and low culture with his take on that iconic song, quite literally in an accompanying visual artwork, and more obliquely on the album’s quietly beautiful ‘Slow Car’, where he reflects “…listening to Tracy Chapman’s 'Fast Car’, in your slow car, in your small town, that you never did leave…” over placid PS1 synths.
In other hands, it all could have been an overbearing concept, but Culver sensitively gets to the gristle of the matter with his style of plaintive ennui, delivered in his signature Humberside accent (apparently beloved of Timothee Chalamet, who describes it as “sexy”) and set to a brine-marinaded palette that has increasingly become his own. Taken with or without conceptual garnish, the album floats on its own merits as an enigmatic work of sound art, but taken as intended it’s as much a personal soliloquy as a reflection of Britain in a state of existential lag and torpor, replete with accreted sweat and skin oil as musical bacteria; a synthesis of lived experience, environment and emotion.
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The fascinating musical pivot of visual artist Richie Culver continues with a new album of static-burned concrète, save room ambience and off-the-dome, infected Northern poetry. The UK's rusted cultural wreckage has rarely sounded more barbed or visceral - consider it essential listening if yr into Kathy Acker, Klein, Mark Leckey, Throbbing Gristle, Werkbund.
Where Culver’s solo debut left us shivering shoreside with his dank depiction of leaving his small northern English town for the bright lights, ‘Hostile Environment’ is about returning home, and defining himself in its relief. The album finds him in noumenal dialogue with the Proustian ohrwurm of Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’; one of the first songs that really made an impression on him, and in his own words “explained how I was feeling in this little town as a 10 year old.” In Richie’s hands, the song becomes a synecdoche for feelings of nostalgia in hauntological contexts, transposed to the dark nether fields of Yorkshire’s liminal zones of transition, and providing anchor for a transient sense of self.
Like another northern English artist whose work rivets us - Mark Leckey - Culver short circuits definitions of high and low culture with his take on that iconic song, quite literally in an accompanying visual artwork, and more obliquely on the album’s quietly beautiful ‘Slow Car’, where he reflects “…listening to Tracy Chapman’s 'Fast Car’, in your slow car, in your small town, that you never did leave…” over placid PS1 synths.
In other hands, it all could have been an overbearing concept, but Culver sensitively gets to the gristle of the matter with his style of plaintive ennui, delivered in his signature Humberside accent (apparently beloved of Timothee Chalamet, who describes it as “sexy”) and set to a brine-marinaded palette that has increasingly become his own. Taken with or without conceptual garnish, the album floats on its own merits as an enigmatic work of sound art, but taken as intended it’s as much a personal soliloquy as a reflection of Britain in a state of existential lag and torpor, replete with accreted sweat and skin oil as musical bacteria; a synthesis of lived experience, environment and emotion.
The fascinating musical pivot of visual artist Richie Culver continues with a new album of static-burned concrète, save room ambience and off-the-dome, infected Northern poetry. The UK's rusted cultural wreckage has rarely sounded more barbed or visceral - consider it essential listening if yr into Kathy Acker, Klein, Mark Leckey, Throbbing Gristle, Werkbund.
Where Culver’s solo debut left us shivering shoreside with his dank depiction of leaving his small northern English town for the bright lights, ‘Hostile Environment’ is about returning home, and defining himself in its relief. The album finds him in noumenal dialogue with the Proustian ohrwurm of Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’; one of the first songs that really made an impression on him, and in his own words “explained how I was feeling in this little town as a 10 year old.” In Richie’s hands, the song becomes a synecdoche for feelings of nostalgia in hauntological contexts, transposed to the dark nether fields of Yorkshire’s liminal zones of transition, and providing anchor for a transient sense of self.
Like another northern English artist whose work rivets us - Mark Leckey - Culver short circuits definitions of high and low culture with his take on that iconic song, quite literally in an accompanying visual artwork, and more obliquely on the album’s quietly beautiful ‘Slow Car’, where he reflects “…listening to Tracy Chapman’s 'Fast Car’, in your slow car, in your small town, that you never did leave…” over placid PS1 synths.
In other hands, it all could have been an overbearing concept, but Culver sensitively gets to the gristle of the matter with his style of plaintive ennui, delivered in his signature Humberside accent (apparently beloved of Timothee Chalamet, who describes it as “sexy”) and set to a brine-marinaded palette that has increasingly become his own. Taken with or without conceptual garnish, the album floats on its own merits as an enigmatic work of sound art, but taken as intended it’s as much a personal soliloquy as a reflection of Britain in a state of existential lag and torpor, replete with accreted sweat and skin oil as musical bacteria; a synthesis of lived experience, environment and emotion.
The fascinating musical pivot of visual artist Richie Culver continues with a new album of static-burned concrète, save room ambience and off-the-dome, infected Northern poetry. The UK's rusted cultural wreckage has rarely sounded more barbed or visceral - consider it essential listening if yr into Kathy Acker, Klein, Mark Leckey, Throbbing Gristle, Werkbund.
Where Culver’s solo debut left us shivering shoreside with his dank depiction of leaving his small northern English town for the bright lights, ‘Hostile Environment’ is about returning home, and defining himself in its relief. The album finds him in noumenal dialogue with the Proustian ohrwurm of Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’; one of the first songs that really made an impression on him, and in his own words “explained how I was feeling in this little town as a 10 year old.” In Richie’s hands, the song becomes a synecdoche for feelings of nostalgia in hauntological contexts, transposed to the dark nether fields of Yorkshire’s liminal zones of transition, and providing anchor for a transient sense of self.
Like another northern English artist whose work rivets us - Mark Leckey - Culver short circuits definitions of high and low culture with his take on that iconic song, quite literally in an accompanying visual artwork, and more obliquely on the album’s quietly beautiful ‘Slow Car’, where he reflects “…listening to Tracy Chapman’s 'Fast Car’, in your slow car, in your small town, that you never did leave…” over placid PS1 synths.
In other hands, it all could have been an overbearing concept, but Culver sensitively gets to the gristle of the matter with his style of plaintive ennui, delivered in his signature Humberside accent (apparently beloved of Timothee Chalamet, who describes it as “sexy”) and set to a brine-marinaded palette that has increasingly become his own. Taken with or without conceptual garnish, the album floats on its own merits as an enigmatic work of sound art, but taken as intended it’s as much a personal soliloquy as a reflection of Britain in a state of existential lag and torpor, replete with accreted sweat and skin oil as musical bacteria; a synthesis of lived experience, environment and emotion.
Edition of 100 copies only, comes with a download of the album dropped to your account.
Out of Stock
The fascinating musical pivot of visual artist Richie Culver continues with a new album of static-burned concrète, save room ambience and off-the-dome, infected Northern poetry. The UK's rusted cultural wreckage has rarely sounded more barbed or visceral - consider it essential listening if yr into Kathy Acker, Klein, Mark Leckey, Throbbing Gristle, Werkbund.
Where Culver’s solo debut left us shivering shoreside with his dank depiction of leaving his small northern English town for the bright lights, ‘Hostile Environment’ is about returning home, and defining himself in its relief. The album finds him in noumenal dialogue with the Proustian ohrwurm of Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’; one of the first songs that really made an impression on him, and in his own words “explained how I was feeling in this little town as a 10 year old.” In Richie’s hands, the song becomes a synecdoche for feelings of nostalgia in hauntological contexts, transposed to the dark nether fields of Yorkshire’s liminal zones of transition, and providing anchor for a transient sense of self.
Like another northern English artist whose work rivets us - Mark Leckey - Culver short circuits definitions of high and low culture with his take on that iconic song, quite literally in an accompanying visual artwork, and more obliquely on the album’s quietly beautiful ‘Slow Car’, where he reflects “…listening to Tracy Chapman’s 'Fast Car’, in your slow car, in your small town, that you never did leave…” over placid PS1 synths.
In other hands, it all could have been an overbearing concept, but Culver sensitively gets to the gristle of the matter with his style of plaintive ennui, delivered in his signature Humberside accent (apparently beloved of Timothee Chalamet, who describes it as “sexy”) and set to a brine-marinaded palette that has increasingly become his own. Taken with or without conceptual garnish, the album floats on its own merits as an enigmatic work of sound art, but taken as intended it’s as much a personal soliloquy as a reflection of Britain in a state of existential lag and torpor, replete with accreted sweat and skin oil as musical bacteria; a synthesis of lived experience, environment and emotion.
Edition of 30 copies only, comes with a download of the album dropped to your account. Same tracklisting as the vinyl edition.
Out of Stock
The fascinating musical pivot of visual artist Richie Culver continues with a new album of static-burned concrète, save room ambience and off-the-dome, infected Northern poetry. The UK's rusted cultural wreckage has rarely sounded more barbed or visceral - consider it essential listening if yr into Kathy Acker, Klein, Mark Leckey, Throbbing Gristle, Werkbund.
Where Culver’s solo debut left us shivering shoreside with his dank depiction of leaving his small northern English town for the bright lights, ‘Hostile Environment’ is about returning home, and defining himself in its relief. The album finds him in noumenal dialogue with the Proustian ohrwurm of Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’; one of the first songs that really made an impression on him, and in his own words “explained how I was feeling in this little town as a 10 year old.” In Richie’s hands, the song becomes a synecdoche for feelings of nostalgia in hauntological contexts, transposed to the dark nether fields of Yorkshire’s liminal zones of transition, and providing anchor for a transient sense of self.
Like another northern English artist whose work rivets us - Mark Leckey - Culver short circuits definitions of high and low culture with his take on that iconic song, quite literally in an accompanying visual artwork, and more obliquely on the album’s quietly beautiful ‘Slow Car’, where he reflects “…listening to Tracy Chapman’s 'Fast Car’, in your slow car, in your small town, that you never did leave…” over placid PS1 synths.
In other hands, it all could have been an overbearing concept, but Culver sensitively gets to the gristle of the matter with his style of plaintive ennui, delivered in his signature Humberside accent (apparently beloved of Timothee Chalamet, who describes it as “sexy”) and set to a brine-marinaded palette that has increasingly become his own. Taken with or without conceptual garnish, the album floats on its own merits as an enigmatic work of sound art, but taken as intended it’s as much a personal soliloquy as a reflection of Britain in a state of existential lag and torpor, replete with accreted sweat and skin oil as musical bacteria; a synthesis of lived experience, environment and emotion.