Jade 玉观音
High-minded noise operatics and ruptured spoken word experiments from PAN mainstay Pan Daijing on her second album for the label.
If Daijing's PAN debut "Lack" was operatic body horror, all fireworks and theatrics, "Jade" drags that body inside, dumps it into a grimy bathtub and locks the door. It's an anxious, solitary album that twins basement noise aesthetics with Daijing's cathartic performance, playing her signature vocals against screaming oscillators, booming Wolf Eyes-esque percussion and uncomfortable analog bass.
'The Goat' allows her words to creep slowly over a backdrop of slithering, industrial distortion. Her voice is barely audible, whispered in the spaces between muted squeals and repeating pulses. On 'Dictee', Daijing wails and hums over distorted cello moans; on 'Dust' there's the suggestion of a song, shattered into pieces and rebuilt using ill-fitting replacement parts.
The album's most successful moment is when Daijing allows a crack of light to shine in through the tightly-drawn curtains. 'Let' layers disarmingly sweet synthesizer chimes over Daijing's cool, confident vocals. "Could it be possible, I take my bath in the ocean, I can't get out," she repeats ominously as synth tones creep into view.
It's a suffocating album, made in solitude to represent the visceral anguish of the void. Fans of '80s industrial drone tomes from Ramleh or M.B. or more recent noise plates from Puce Mary, LINGUA IGNOTA or Pharmakon should investigate without delay.
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High-minded noise operatics and ruptured spoken word experiments from PAN mainstay Pan Daijing on her second album for the label.
If Daijing's PAN debut "Lack" was operatic body horror, all fireworks and theatrics, "Jade" drags that body inside, dumps it into a grimy bathtub and locks the door. It's an anxious, solitary album that twins basement noise aesthetics with Daijing's cathartic performance, playing her signature vocals against screaming oscillators, booming Wolf Eyes-esque percussion and uncomfortable analog bass.
'The Goat' allows her words to creep slowly over a backdrop of slithering, industrial distortion. Her voice is barely audible, whispered in the spaces between muted squeals and repeating pulses. On 'Dictee', Daijing wails and hums over distorted cello moans; on 'Dust' there's the suggestion of a song, shattered into pieces and rebuilt using ill-fitting replacement parts.
The album's most successful moment is when Daijing allows a crack of light to shine in through the tightly-drawn curtains. 'Let' layers disarmingly sweet synthesizer chimes over Daijing's cool, confident vocals. "Could it be possible, I take my bath in the ocean, I can't get out," she repeats ominously as synth tones creep into view.
It's a suffocating album, made in solitude to represent the visceral anguish of the void. Fans of '80s industrial drone tomes from Ramleh or M.B. or more recent noise plates from Puce Mary, LINGUA IGNOTA or Pharmakon should investigate without delay.
High-minded noise operatics and ruptured spoken word experiments from PAN mainstay Pan Daijing on her second album for the label.
If Daijing's PAN debut "Lack" was operatic body horror, all fireworks and theatrics, "Jade" drags that body inside, dumps it into a grimy bathtub and locks the door. It's an anxious, solitary album that twins basement noise aesthetics with Daijing's cathartic performance, playing her signature vocals against screaming oscillators, booming Wolf Eyes-esque percussion and uncomfortable analog bass.
'The Goat' allows her words to creep slowly over a backdrop of slithering, industrial distortion. Her voice is barely audible, whispered in the spaces between muted squeals and repeating pulses. On 'Dictee', Daijing wails and hums over distorted cello moans; on 'Dust' there's the suggestion of a song, shattered into pieces and rebuilt using ill-fitting replacement parts.
The album's most successful moment is when Daijing allows a crack of light to shine in through the tightly-drawn curtains. 'Let' layers disarmingly sweet synthesizer chimes over Daijing's cool, confident vocals. "Could it be possible, I take my bath in the ocean, I can't get out," she repeats ominously as synth tones creep into view.
It's a suffocating album, made in solitude to represent the visceral anguish of the void. Fans of '80s industrial drone tomes from Ramleh or M.B. or more recent noise plates from Puce Mary, LINGUA IGNOTA or Pharmakon should investigate without delay.
High-minded noise operatics and ruptured spoken word experiments from PAN mainstay Pan Daijing on her second album for the label.
If Daijing's PAN debut "Lack" was operatic body horror, all fireworks and theatrics, "Jade" drags that body inside, dumps it into a grimy bathtub and locks the door. It's an anxious, solitary album that twins basement noise aesthetics with Daijing's cathartic performance, playing her signature vocals against screaming oscillators, booming Wolf Eyes-esque percussion and uncomfortable analog bass.
'The Goat' allows her words to creep slowly over a backdrop of slithering, industrial distortion. Her voice is barely audible, whispered in the spaces between muted squeals and repeating pulses. On 'Dictee', Daijing wails and hums over distorted cello moans; on 'Dust' there's the suggestion of a song, shattered into pieces and rebuilt using ill-fitting replacement parts.
The album's most successful moment is when Daijing allows a crack of light to shine in through the tightly-drawn curtains. 'Let' layers disarmingly sweet synthesizer chimes over Daijing's cool, confident vocals. "Could it be possible, I take my bath in the ocean, I can't get out," she repeats ominously as synth tones creep into view.
It's a suffocating album, made in solitude to represent the visceral anguish of the void. Fans of '80s industrial drone tomes from Ramleh or M.B. or more recent noise plates from Puce Mary, LINGUA IGNOTA or Pharmakon should investigate without delay.
Back in stock - Pressed on white vinyl, includes printed inner & 12x12" booklet.
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High-minded noise operatics and ruptured spoken word experiments from PAN mainstay Pan Daijing on her second album for the label.
If Daijing's PAN debut "Lack" was operatic body horror, all fireworks and theatrics, "Jade" drags that body inside, dumps it into a grimy bathtub and locks the door. It's an anxious, solitary album that twins basement noise aesthetics with Daijing's cathartic performance, playing her signature vocals against screaming oscillators, booming Wolf Eyes-esque percussion and uncomfortable analog bass.
'The Goat' allows her words to creep slowly over a backdrop of slithering, industrial distortion. Her voice is barely audible, whispered in the spaces between muted squeals and repeating pulses. On 'Dictee', Daijing wails and hums over distorted cello moans; on 'Dust' there's the suggestion of a song, shattered into pieces and rebuilt using ill-fitting replacement parts.
The album's most successful moment is when Daijing allows a crack of light to shine in through the tightly-drawn curtains. 'Let' layers disarmingly sweet synthesizer chimes over Daijing's cool, confident vocals. "Could it be possible, I take my bath in the ocean, I can't get out," she repeats ominously as synth tones creep into view.
It's a suffocating album, made in solitude to represent the visceral anguish of the void. Fans of '80s industrial drone tomes from Ramleh or M.B. or more recent noise plates from Puce Mary, LINGUA IGNOTA or Pharmakon should investigate without delay.