One year on from their debut, Rainer Veil explore deep, brittle rave variants on their 2nd EP for Modern Love. The five tracks of 'New Brutalism' are a product of their Northern environment, making pointed reference to the kind of deep-rooted rave heritage documented in Mark Leckey's 'Fiorucci Made Me Hardcore' soundtrack through a prism of angular, vulnerable club music.
Conceptually, It adopts a similar perspective on British nightlife to Burial or Lee Gamble, surveying the 'floor as if during an out-of-body experience or through closed eyes from a corner of the club at 5am. Opening track, 'UK Will Not Survive' captures that sensation beautifully with its tape-saturated layers of wistful vocal, woody 2-step and daubs of Reese bass, whilst 'Three Day Jag' isolates that curious blend of hedonism and introspection innate to early UK 'ardcore, albeit without the narco-sweats. Closing number 'Run Out' doffs a cap to grey building sites and strobe-lit clubs alike, channelling diffuse field recordings and half-heard breakbeats with a bleary-eyed, tired and emotional quality.
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One year on from their debut, Rainer Veil explore deep, brittle rave variants on their 2nd EP for Modern Love. The five tracks of 'New Brutalism' are a product of their Northern environment, making pointed reference to the kind of deep-rooted rave heritage documented in Mark Leckey's 'Fiorucci Made Me Hardcore' soundtrack through a prism of angular, vulnerable club music.
Conceptually, It adopts a similar perspective on British nightlife to Burial or Lee Gamble, surveying the 'floor as if during an out-of-body experience or through closed eyes from a corner of the club at 5am. Opening track, 'UK Will Not Survive' captures that sensation beautifully with its tape-saturated layers of wistful vocal, woody 2-step and daubs of Reese bass, whilst 'Three Day Jag' isolates that curious blend of hedonism and introspection innate to early UK 'ardcore, albeit without the narco-sweats. Closing number 'Run Out' doffs a cap to grey building sites and strobe-lit clubs alike, channelling diffuse field recordings and half-heard breakbeats with a bleary-eyed, tired and emotional quality.
One year on from their debut, Rainer Veil explore deep, brittle rave variants on their 2nd EP for Modern Love. The five tracks of 'New Brutalism' are a product of their Northern environment, making pointed reference to the kind of deep-rooted rave heritage documented in Mark Leckey's 'Fiorucci Made Me Hardcore' soundtrack through a prism of angular, vulnerable club music.
Conceptually, It adopts a similar perspective on British nightlife to Burial or Lee Gamble, surveying the 'floor as if during an out-of-body experience or through closed eyes from a corner of the club at 5am. Opening track, 'UK Will Not Survive' captures that sensation beautifully with its tape-saturated layers of wistful vocal, woody 2-step and daubs of Reese bass, whilst 'Three Day Jag' isolates that curious blend of hedonism and introspection innate to early UK 'ardcore, albeit without the narco-sweats. Closing number 'Run Out' doffs a cap to grey building sites and strobe-lit clubs alike, channelling diffuse field recordings and half-heard breakbeats with a bleary-eyed, tired and emotional quality.
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One year on from their debut, Rainer Veil explore deep, brittle rave variants on their 2nd EP for Modern Love. The five tracks of 'New Brutalism' are a product of their Northern environment, making pointed reference to the kind of deep-rooted rave heritage documented in Mark Leckey's 'Fiorucci Made Me Hardcore' soundtrack through a prism of angular, vulnerable club music.
Conceptually, It adopts a similar perspective on British nightlife to Burial or Lee Gamble, surveying the 'floor as if during an out-of-body experience or through closed eyes from a corner of the club at 5am. Opening track, 'UK Will Not Survive' captures that sensation beautifully with its tape-saturated layers of wistful vocal, woody 2-step and daubs of Reese bass, whilst 'Three Day Jag' isolates that curious blend of hedonism and introspection innate to early UK 'ardcore, albeit without the narco-sweats. Closing number 'Run Out' doffs a cap to grey building sites and strobe-lit clubs alike, channelling diffuse field recordings and half-heard breakbeats with a bleary-eyed, tired and emotional quality.