Dark Year of the Goat

Capricorni Pneumatici – ‘The Commission’ (ADN Records)

It was exactly 40 years ago that Capricorni Pneumatici first began their experiments in what could genuinely be described as sonic rituals. This, at the same time, as ‘Crocodile Dundee’ wowed cinema-goers, and pop connoisseurs flocked to Woolworth’s for Mr Mister‘s latest hit. There was serious talk about Rolling Stones splitting up. Appropriately given life at The Cave, in Italy, Capricorni Pneumatici has resolutely stuck to the brief over four decades – unsettle; challenge; crush; create sparks. ‘The Commission’ takes us back to some of those very first recordings – of course, they sound just as magical, ancient and futuristic as they ever did.

Whatever you want to call this corner of the musical spectrum – dark ambient; monkcore; nunstep; cowlwave – there’s no doubting that it is consistently effective. Track 1, ‘UVDL’, has a gentle shake of bells enveloped by clouds of gloomy electronics, metallic scraping and bongs, and you’re sent to that feeling you have when you’re on a long train ride, where leaning your tired head against the window allows you to feel the vibrations and sink towards a wonderfully satisfying slumber, only for it to be interrupted by a neutron bomb of acid reflux. Here, the jarring bitterness comes from some apologetic bird song being drowned out by some horribly troubling chanting, what sounds like a hippo’s head being sawn off, and something stirring in the cellar.

I think a lot of people miss that this IS music. It’s not thrown together randomly, designed as a novelty or wallpaper. They are carving the air with the dexterity of master butchers, creating sounds and combinations that have never been heard by human ears before. There should be UNESCO protection of these things.

‘Polizei’ harks back to a visual piece created in 2020. The constant but oddly soothing battering of the small hammer against the copper of your skull abates after about 7 of the 14 minutes, though it’s only overtaken by someone scraping the inside of your cranium with a metal coat hanger, so horses for courses. All of which may lead you to think that this is all rather formulaic – bastardised lullabies with a plot twist. But even track 3, ‘Securite’, subverts this, throwing you into a whirlpool of a riot (actually field recordings of the Paris riots of December 2020), elbows and teeth everywhere, breached by a police siren and chained sanctuary.

There’s never really any respite. Whether it’s the breath of mosquitoes suddenly amplified to the level of a human voice, the ambient sounds of rattled grills or simply the torture of your own thoughts, you’re always asked to question if we have ever truly experienced silence.

Speaking of field recordings, can you imagine anything more grim than the sounds of the London Tube being orchestrated for ritualistic gatherings? Of course it works. What could reflect the mindless gathering of spellbound goons more than pay-hungry suits crammed into a tin? There’s a feeling of forever – the idea of ‘stop’ almost taunting you, the endless rush of echoed screeching, whistles and murmurs like incantations from a cursed book with endless pages. ‘The Commission’ concludes with ‘kk’, the nearest track we have to a ‘standard’ ritual, filled with groans, cybernetic yawns of woe and the constant hum of the Earth turning in the blackness.

The album is launched alongside an exhibition at London cARTel Gallery, curated by artist Tomislav Török Terek.

Daz Lawrence

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