Rave Angels
Jules Reidy takes a euphoric pause on 'Rave Angels', turning in a 20-minute dedication to rave culture that augments their signature xenharmonic guitar chimes with glistening, after-hours pads and surging, psychedelic drones.
Originally produced in collaboration with the Art Gallery of New South Wales, 'Rave Angels' memorialises a profound period for Reidy, who spent last summer reorienting and building new connections. It's very different material from last year's brilliant 'Trances'; while that album seemingly linked Popol Vuh, Slowdive and Arnold Dreyblatt, this one accents Reidy's dreamiest, most dissociated tones in an attempt to channel some of the intimacy and kinship they received from the queer community. Thinking back to long nights raving, they interpret the experience as a feverish swirl of hypnotic hues that cradle their unmistakable guitar plucks.
The tuning is still head-muddlingly strange, but Reidy's outcome is muted this time, blurred like the ephemeral connections from an endless night out. At times, the reeling drones - no doubt sculpted from guitar tones - sound like humming organs or time-stretched synths, with hissing metallic whirrs coming across like percussion through a bathroom wall. It's the rare rave memory that captures a raw feeling instead of exhuming a raked-over nostalgic aesthetic, and we can't explain just how gratifying that is to hear.
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Jules Reidy takes a euphoric pause on 'Rave Angels', turning in a 20-minute dedication to rave culture that augments their signature xenharmonic guitar chimes with glistening, after-hours pads and surging, psychedelic drones.
Originally produced in collaboration with the Art Gallery of New South Wales, 'Rave Angels' memorialises a profound period for Reidy, who spent last summer reorienting and building new connections. It's very different material from last year's brilliant 'Trances'; while that album seemingly linked Popol Vuh, Slowdive and Arnold Dreyblatt, this one accents Reidy's dreamiest, most dissociated tones in an attempt to channel some of the intimacy and kinship they received from the queer community. Thinking back to long nights raving, they interpret the experience as a feverish swirl of hypnotic hues that cradle their unmistakable guitar plucks.
The tuning is still head-muddlingly strange, but Reidy's outcome is muted this time, blurred like the ephemeral connections from an endless night out. At times, the reeling drones - no doubt sculpted from guitar tones - sound like humming organs or time-stretched synths, with hissing metallic whirrs coming across like percussion through a bathroom wall. It's the rare rave memory that captures a raw feeling instead of exhuming a raked-over nostalgic aesthetic, and we can't explain just how gratifying that is to hear.
Jules Reidy takes a euphoric pause on 'Rave Angels', turning in a 20-minute dedication to rave culture that augments their signature xenharmonic guitar chimes with glistening, after-hours pads and surging, psychedelic drones.
Originally produced in collaboration with the Art Gallery of New South Wales, 'Rave Angels' memorialises a profound period for Reidy, who spent last summer reorienting and building new connections. It's very different material from last year's brilliant 'Trances'; while that album seemingly linked Popol Vuh, Slowdive and Arnold Dreyblatt, this one accents Reidy's dreamiest, most dissociated tones in an attempt to channel some of the intimacy and kinship they received from the queer community. Thinking back to long nights raving, they interpret the experience as a feverish swirl of hypnotic hues that cradle their unmistakable guitar plucks.
The tuning is still head-muddlingly strange, but Reidy's outcome is muted this time, blurred like the ephemeral connections from an endless night out. At times, the reeling drones - no doubt sculpted from guitar tones - sound like humming organs or time-stretched synths, with hissing metallic whirrs coming across like percussion through a bathroom wall. It's the rare rave memory that captures a raw feeling instead of exhuming a raked-over nostalgic aesthetic, and we can't explain just how gratifying that is to hear.
Jules Reidy takes a euphoric pause on 'Rave Angels', turning in a 20-minute dedication to rave culture that augments their signature xenharmonic guitar chimes with glistening, after-hours pads and surging, psychedelic drones.
Originally produced in collaboration with the Art Gallery of New South Wales, 'Rave Angels' memorialises a profound period for Reidy, who spent last summer reorienting and building new connections. It's very different material from last year's brilliant 'Trances'; while that album seemingly linked Popol Vuh, Slowdive and Arnold Dreyblatt, this one accents Reidy's dreamiest, most dissociated tones in an attempt to channel some of the intimacy and kinship they received from the queer community. Thinking back to long nights raving, they interpret the experience as a feverish swirl of hypnotic hues that cradle their unmistakable guitar plucks.
The tuning is still head-muddlingly strange, but Reidy's outcome is muted this time, blurred like the ephemeral connections from an endless night out. At times, the reeling drones - no doubt sculpted from guitar tones - sound like humming organs or time-stretched synths, with hissing metallic whirrs coming across like percussion through a bathroom wall. It's the rare rave memory that captures a raw feeling instead of exhuming a raked-over nostalgic aesthetic, and we can't explain just how gratifying that is to hear.