Boomkat Product Review:
“Vertigo II” is the second album from Oliver Doerell and Roger Doring under the Dictaphone tag, further honing their delicately homespun tape loops and jazz emissions into a new kind of midnight effervescence. As anyone who has had the indignity of using one will know, Dictaphone's tend to be awkward little buggers that happily tape the conversation across the room whilst rendering the intended subject incomprehensible. Thankfully Dictaphone have taken this appellation as a starting point only and whilst there is undoubtedly something of the 'overheard' about 'Vertigo II', at no point are you compelled to readjust the contrast and bring the foreground into focus. The serendipitous coming together of Oliver Doerell and Roger Doering, 'Vertigo II' marks a clear evolution from the sound on 'M.=Addiction' (towerblock010); whilst diluting none of the spirit which made it so irresistible to begin with. Laying down a membrane of mealy clicks, glitches and sliced digitalis, 'Vertigo II' at times resembles the intricate bedrock of artists such as Jen Jelinek or Angelo Badelamanti. Yet whereas many would be happy to leave it at that, Dictaphone then go about building layers of aural sediment atop this foundation; producing a sound which is always ambitious, perfectly judged and downright addictive. Very much enraptured by sonorous bass, 'Vertigo II' happily indulges this predilection and in doing so allows the loose-limbed horns and digital detritus to roam the spectrum without becoming detached from the guiding core. Peppering the LP with snatches of shortwave-interference (most memorably a snooker match), found-sound snapshots and soundtrack conventions (including a haunting nod to Ed Wood), Dictaphone manage to massage an astonishing amount of material into an end result that feels as light as a feather and refreshingly clean, whilst avoiding the inherent sterility this can often imply. Littered with a vault full of lost memories and escaped snatches of conversation, “vertigo II” reads like a montage of recollections torn and cellotaped by david lynch in a smokey room in an unmarked hotel room..someplace in the middle of nowhere.