CHARLIE XCX with JOHN CALE – House: TRACK OF THE MONTH

WUTHERING HEIGHTS SUMMONS WINTER STORM

It’s the year’s last gasp for new sounds so we’ve got a small but suitably wintry batch to cram in before 2025 disappears. And, as we well know, nothing says deep winter darkness like … Charlie XCX?

Damn right. Let’s get straight to it. Links to tracks are all at the end.

CHARLIE XCX and JOHN CALE – House

Some songs land out of nowhere and own your essence so squarely that you don’t play them too often. You don’t need to – a single listen goes a long way and the intentional underplay prolongs the fresh mystery that slammed you the first time. There’s no rush. It’s all there, waiting. Special.

House is such a track. Being caught out by a Charlie XCX and John Cale collaboration – the day after a chance hearing of Velvet Underground’s European Son (to Delmore Schwartz) unknowingly primed my Cale antennae – is one thing. But the song itself, a charged descent into blizzard hex, is another. Cale narrates with vulnerable yet commanding authority:

“Can I speak to you privately for a moment?
I just want to explain
explain the circumstances I find myself in.”

Doom-heavy cello surges and retreats. Violin slashes squeak and edge your nerves. It’s ominously bleak and supernaturally intense, like the Pennine winter itself. For the first two thirds, it’s Cale solo. When Charlie XCX enters the fray, House implodes in a swollen storm of beats and pained distortion

and then it drops, as suddenly as it rose. Pure dark magic.

[for more spoken word and heavy string, check The Dictator by Catherine Graindorge with Iggy Pop]

SMOTE – Snodgerss

Invader music. That’s what this is. An instrumental soundtrack to an invasion by beasts of the sea. Seriously. Not from the very start, obvs – because a flute dance is never the sound of an imminent attack – but as soon as flute gives way to tidal drones and push, Snodgerss veers towards GY!BE territory and lays on the feedback. No groove, no flow, no funk, just heavy symphonic reps and industrial psyche for a pounding, escalating tension and, presumably, obliteration.

TRENT REZNOR & ATTICUS ROSS – Vaster than Empires

Not quite new, but only a year or so old, is this alternate version to a Reznor-Ross piece from their Queer soundtrack, the 2024 William Burroughs biopic. Hear it out of context and nothing screams Nine Inch Nails soundtrack. Instead of piano, synth or pulse, it’s vocally led – by Reznor, but other voices multiply while the distortions and layers and volume and mass increase over a hypnotic swell.

Then it hits you: it’s a little bit Low, this. Shapeshifting a Double Negative, building a HEY WHAT.

Vaster than Empires: Trent Reznor, Atticus Ross, Alan Sparhawk, BJ Burton.

Come taste the electro divine.

PETER HAMMILL – Fogwalking

Not quite new but only 45 years or so old … WTF, how am I only hearing this genius throb of 80s avant electro mist-icism for the first time in 2025? Get me A Black Box and start fixing that long-broken promise to check Peter Hammill and Van der Graaf Generator.

The title tells you what’s going on – walking in fog on city streets – but there’s a seediness and hallucinatory threat at play, like you get from Iggy’s Funtime and Nightclubbing, that ups the unease. This isn’t soothed by collage-style sax shrapnel panning left and right, nor the heavily treated riffs that are sticky with gloom. It’s the anti-slick and the gothic, drenched in post-punk synth experimentation. Paranoia via machine prog, Fogwalking is of the time yet way ahead … the genuine article.

Tracklisting:

House – Charlie XCX and John Cale
Snodgerss – Smote
Vaster than Empires – Trent Reznor, Atticus Ross, Alan Sparhawk, BJ Burton
Fogwalking – Peter Hammill

’til next time!

Blank tape and xmas lights
Tracks that totally sleigh

BATS, BEASTS AND BEEF HEARTS

HALLOWEEN VOODOO WITH THE CAPTAIN, ANYONE?  

It’s not a massive stretch, or even a tiny one, to imagine Captain Beefheart as a jester-like storyteller but, on his final three studio albums, an extra gothic tone streaks the magic. Tracks starring bats, crows, ghosts, mummies and witch doctors are ripe for Halloween IF they’ve got a gumbo bizarro groove and voodoo flow – and these three definitely add a little swampy sauce to the Hallows’ Eve jukebox.

With a hypnotic, trance-inducing beat that replicates windscreen-wiper motion, Bat Chain Puller (Shiny Beast) is smeared with abduction vibes. Let your imagine flow and it’ll soon soundtrack a ritualistic fire dance stumbled on by some hapless rural wanderer … who will never be allowed to leave. Sax blowouts amplify the carnival bizarre and time slows to a paralysing taunt from a conga train of freaks and face masks, primed to assimilate any accidental observer.    

When I See Mommy I Feel Like a Mummy is the very next track on the same album and you couldn’t get a better follow-up if Santa fell into the wrong season and delivered it hiss-elf. Rhythmically, this track takes some beating – surely one of the band’s best. Everything is so locked in but so playfully loose as well. Don’t be taken in by Mommy Mummy’s immense catchiness, though – not today. It’s a trickster move. The oompah-ish rhythm signals jauntiness but when the sax and trombone squeal, like victims in your mangled mind’s eye, you know the lunatics have taken over. Cue a fade to black ending and a Wicker Man style fate. Doomed.

The final short arterial squeeze of this Beefheart triple is The Host, the Ghost, the Most Holy-O. Same sideshow, peoples. Try NOT imagining an incessant lurch of the undead. Impossible. A stuttering spiralling riff and whacked-out gang chorus are your captors while the Captain lords it up as the aloof MC.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, rock freaks!

Captain Beefheart Shiny Beast back cover image
Shiny Beast: the backside

Want more seasonal chills and thrills? Check this Celtic Frost oddity

BLOOD INCANTATION LIVE @ ALBERT HALL, MANCHESTER

FEROCIOUS DISPLAY OF ULTRA PROG DEATH METAL AND SPACE TRIPPING PSYCHE

Last night, alt pop legend Edwyn Collins played Manchester’s Albert Hall – his last ever UK gig. In a few days, 90s indie stars Sleeper move through its arches. Sandwiched in between is Blood Incantation. The place is jammed.

It’s a magnificent venue: the former chapel brings a historic elegance that fully enhances the totemic props and cosmic-ancient energies central to Blood Incantation’s philosophical quests through their chosen medium of time-bending, mind-expanding death metal.

We get latest album Absolute Elsewhere in full from start to finish – The Stargate and The Message. We get The Giza Power Plant. We get Starspawn. Stunning, every last blast and beat. But what this whole gig really feels like is 75 minutes of death metal orchestra. We know from the albums that Blood Incantation are vast and expansive, but tonight delivers such a technical, visceral and telepathically locked-in performance of extreme metal and prog dynamics that you wonder if such intense heavy fusion can ever be repeated, never mind topped. Where can Blood Incantation possibly go from here? Has this path peaked?

When Paul Riedl introduces The Giza Power Plant as a track “…from our second album Hidden History of the Human Race“, you remember that they’ve only made four. The pace of the band’s development to this gig right now seems exponential, even though they started from Starspawn’s already high bar.

Writing here as someone who’s not really into death metal but who has gone for this band in a big way, this performance went beyond all expectations: a supreme mix of aggression, blast beats, DM churn, post-metal soar and speed metal hooks with Pink Floyd and Tangerine Dream pushing through. Clear sound, crystal. Lasers and lights, a spectacle. It’s theatre without theatrics – a show where the body of music took centre stage as a massive, singular force.

Forgive the hyperventilating gush. Am still mesmerised, really. At their first ever Manchester gig, Blood Incantation damned near performed death metal levitation.

Date: October 8th, 2025.

Lights, camera … incantation

JASSS – It’s a Hole: TRACK OF THE MONTH

BERLIN BREAKBEATS, LONDON PROG, PHILADELPHIA SHOEGAZE – AND PULLED APART BY HORSES HIT BUXTON

Who’d have thought it? Pulled Apart By Horses, on stage, in Buxton.

Honestly, it’s a shock – but a welcome one. Being a Buxton newcomer (moved here just under a year ago), it was my understanding that noise-and-sweat-style rock gigs by name bands wouldn’t really be a fixture. So, Sheffield and Manchester have been beacons for riff-heavy fixes by the likes of the Melvins and Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs.

Then Pulled Apart By Horses posters started popping up around town. What???

And here we are at Buxton Trackside, gearing up for a Pulled Apart gig more than 10 years after seeing them rip it up in Oxford.

Having not followed the band since Tough Love, the line-up changes and recent albums escape me but, really, it’s the live Horses experience that’s the draw and one thing that time hasn’t dimmed is singer Tom Hudson’s willingness to get off the stage and into the crowd. This happens in the very first track and doesn’t stop all night. It sets the tone and ups the energy right off the bat.

The awesome V.E.N.O.M. gets cranked out early, (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? catches everyone out and High Five, Swan Dive, Nose Dive pretty much shuts the set down before a final thrash through I Wanna Be Your Dog makes for a predictably raucous send-off. Job done. Very little has changed from all those years ago – whether that’s good or bad is up to you – but it feels great to be among some noise on a Buxton Friday and huge props to Buxton Trackside for making such an ace gig space. Let’s hope it becomes the venue for live action round here.

Right, what else has caught the ears this past month? New records by the godlike Robert Plant and in-shape Nine Inch Nails are the big specials but there’s always room for small curios. Here’s a just-heard new sound or three fished out from murkier waters.

THEY ARE GUTTING A BODY OF WATER – the chase

Lumbering guitar mass pounding, not a zillion miles away from Mogwai at their earliest unpolished, starts the chase. Then the clean breakdown and spoken storyteller narration. Then the return of the guitars, steamrollering everything. This – the oversized guitar fuzz and feedback – leapt right out of the radio the other night and set expectations of a band dealing in noise-heavy post-rock.

But their other tracks have undermined those expectations a little. Is there enough here to keep us hooked? Not sure yet. Curious, though. Next album LOTTO out soon and the chase is on it.

JASSS – It’s a Hole (feat James K and Alias Error)

Deep bass drives this dense, ultra shadowy soundscape by Berlin-based multimedia artist JASSS. Though not loud or showy, It’s a Hole is rich with information that slow-drowns you in disorienting intoxication … faint dread meets the hypnotic ebb of a dark Boards of Canada warping. Tense comforts.

THE ORCHESTRA (FOR NOW) – Hattrick

London prog, the band call it. Jazz-flamed rock with violin, cello and noise-prog ambition is a less pithy tag. Probably less usable, too. But you know how Maruja’s Look Down On Us climbs into a crescendo of communal euphoria that threatens to transcend? Hattrick kicks that kind of dust. Rage and beauty and loud and quiet and wild orchestral swings – and a drummer to drop jaws everywhere.

’til next time!

Monthly rewind
The monthly music rewind

MELVINS LIVE @ THE FOUNDRY, SHEFFIELD

NO-ONE ROCKS HARDER. END OF.

When Melvins take the stage at 9pm on Saturday 16th August, half the band have already played for an hour. It’s no surprise that Steve McDonald doubles up on bass duties with Red Kross supporting but Dale Crover behind the Kross kit? Bonus. I know zilch about Redd Kross beyond the name – I guess they hung out in a grunge-adjacent strand of the alt-rock rainbow in the early 90s but no tunes come to mind. Not like it matters – their alt-punk energy, power pop hooks, vocal harmonies and rippingly to-the-point solos are catchy and breezy. Tight band, great set.

FUNN FAKT: Sheffield is the first place in the UK that Steve McDonald ever slept. It was in 1992. He told us.

Melvins are a different animal – not just different to Redd Kross but different to every other band out there. This is not news. But seeing them live on such imperious form – which they definitely are tonight – is a reminder of just how potent and ingenious a one-off force they still are and we really, really shouldn’t take them for granted.

With Coady Willis setting up next to Dale Crover, Big Business-era killers like Blood Witch and Evil New War God land with all their original double-drum intensity and, for my tastes, are worth the price of entry alone. With Revolve and Working the Ditch also working their way into the set, it’s game over – Melvins win. Cannot remember now what else got played (did Kicking Machine make it? Hooch?) but that doesn’t matter. What we got was an hour and fifteen minutes of twisted, non-stop riffage that only Melvins can deliver.

And to watch Buzz Osborne is to watch a guy consumed by what he’s doing. Not once does he address the crowd between songs – that’s McDonald’s job, he’s the connector – and not once does he step off the gas. He rocks out, sings hard and plays hard. Ridiculously fckn hard. They all do.

Been on a Melvins binge ever since. Just how it should be.

Melvins CDs
A stack of one-offs

BLACK SABBATH: BEYOND METAL (A JAZZ ODYSSEY)

EVER HEARD BLACK SABBATH SOUND LIKE THIS?

On July 6th, the day after Black Sabbath’s Back to the Beginning sign-off at Villa Park, Stuart Maconie broadcast a Sabbath special Freakzone on BBC Radio 6 Music.

It was an inspired slab of radio – a wild selection of Black Sabbath covers, bands inspired by Sabbath and, of course, Sabbath originals. But it was the covers that really made it work because none of them were rock or metal. Not a single one.

Instead there was fictional jazz (eh?), medieval folk, Ethiopian brassy scuzz, Scandi-fied indie pop, contemporary classical and plenty more … countless left turns in a fascinating trip that hints at just how far and wide Black Sabbath reached.

The programme is no longer available on BBC Sounds but, because it’s too good not to rave about, here are a few words on some of the tracks that blew my tiny mind, followed by the tracklist for your fullest explorations.

RIP Ozzy Osbourne. Long live the Summer of Sabbath.

Far beyond metal

What, no guitar? Better get used to it with French/Ethiopian hybrid uKanDanZ because they lead into War Pigs with a screaming sax blast and it RIPS. After that, they lock down a tough keys-bass-drums groove punctured with brassy bursts.

Soreng Santi throws out a very loose take on Iron Man. It’s a track that’s always lumbered in the best possible way but here the sticky fuzziness of the riff stumbles and wavers and just about stays upright. In contrast, the drums dance with clarity and full command of spacial awareness. If you watched White Lotus, this track appeared in an episode somewhere. Apparently.

Hearing some radical reworks of Paranoid makes you realise that the chugging riff captures the paranoia of the title – it’s a bit nervy, edgy, restless. Take that signature element away and the song can be transformed, as Black Bossa Sabbath Nova show with a gentle, swinging shuffle that glides so smoothly it barely touches ground. Beautiful vocal too.

Sticking with Paranoid, Hellsongs do a similarly non-monolithic breakdown. Like Susanna and the Magic Orchestra’s minimalist, heartbreaking version of Love Will Tear Us Apart, Hellsongs strip a robust original down to its barest essence and redress it lightly – here with whispered gusts and string-backed Americana. Hellsongs Paranoid is roomy and calm, the very opposite of Sabbath’s anxious riffing. And while we’re on a Paranoid reimagined trip, check Type O Negative’s version for a transcendent goth metal overhaul.

If the idea of Jazz Sabbath (listed below) excites more than the lighter-touch music delivers then Iron Man by The Bad Plus is the place to get a proper jazz-does-Sabbath experience. THIS is jazz Sabbath. Piano chords take the place of Iommi’s riff, the tempo is slowed a fraction and the inventive combined muso talent makes more notes, more melodies and more dimensions without ever losing the heavy essence of the original.

Keeping it jazz, Brad Meldhau‘s Sabbath is not a cover but a tribute. Doom piano and shit-hot drumwork conspire to fashion a downer earworm from Sweet Leaf’s cloud. Bulletproof and nicely weighty.

At the risk of turning this into a jazz odyssey, the final highlight – for now – is more jazz. From a metal legend. War Pigs by The Alex Skolnick Trio. Swingy as fuck. Do not expect Testament-al thrash riffage. Do expect clean, warm tones, sublime phrasing, blistering jazz runs and a drum masterclass … how much musicality? Unreal.

As promised, below is the full Freakzone tracklist minus the Black Sabbath originals. Sleep and Electric Wizard are familiar enough but all the covers here are, to me, a new adventure and every single track is worth checking. Credit to Stuart Maconie for putting it together – radio at its best.

Let the Black Sabbath story continue.

Freakzone: Black Sabbath Special

Cindy und BertDer Hund Von Baskerville. Ultra catchy German pop-psyche Paranoid via Haight Ashbury

Les BaxterMain Title (from the film, Black Sabbath)

uKanDanZ War Pigs. See above

Jazz SabbathElectric Funeral. Soft shuffle and brushes from Adam Wakeman’s invented concept. If the nightcap fits… drink it. Late-night bar vibes

RondellusRotae Confusions. Wheels of Confusion, sung in Latin, haunting and medieval

Soreng SantiKuen Kuen Lueng Lueng. See above

Vitamin String QuartetInto the Void. Strings, innit?

CardigansSabbath Bloody Sabbath. Light and dreamy retro drift-pop with incredibly cool funk drums. Genteel detachment you can almost dance to.

Black Bossa Sabbath NovaParanoid, see above

SleepHoly Mountain. No description required

ApocalypticaSpiral Architect. Full bodied orchestral instrumental

HellsongsParanoid, see above

Brad MeldhauSabbath, ditto

The Bad PlusIron Man, ditto ditto

Electric Wizard Funeralopolis. See Sleep above

Free Nelson MandoomjazzBlack Sabbath. Melancholy sax, horror scream squall sax, max-tension dynamics – this song was destined to be doomjazzed

MeatdripperHomegrown. Blackened stoner with Pigsx7 slam riffage and questionable vox, you decide

Alex Skolnick TrioWar Pigs, see above and listen and weep

Black Sabbath Vol 4
Back to the Beginning, back to the font: Vol 4

A WORD FOR OZZY

This post was meant to be a celebration of Black Sabbath‘s monumental Back to the Beginning metal-thon and all the Sabbathian goodness and rekindled love it inspired. Who hasn’t been on a Sabbath bender of late?

Following huge media coverage of Glastonbury and Oasis in the previous few days, Back to the Beginning could not have been timed better: the festival spirit was already overflowing but this time, July 5th, it was for heavy rock and metal. The historic aspect of BTTB was never in doubt but once you got into it and started watching and reading more about it, it really sunk in just how big a deal this actually was.

It was on-stage closure for the people who started it – in their home city, supported by the bands who drew on their influence and came back to pay tribute. Poignancy played a huge part in all this. It was so much more than a final gig by a legendary band. It was a moment that will go down as one of the great events in rock.

Then Ozzy passed away just days later. And it’s knocked everything sideways.

Instead of being a celebration of music and legacy, Back to the Beginning has rapidly become something else – not just a send-off for a band but a send-off for a life, too. No wonder our thoughts have stalled and become blurred … it’s too fast a transition from loved-up afterglow into shock. In some ways, Black Sabbath have been pushed a little further back within the memory of this event and Ozzy – understandably, right now – is up front and centre. We’re in Ozzy mode.

Unlike Black Sabbath’s back catalogue, Ozzy’s solo music isn’t enough my thing, despite some awesome tunes. But his OTT Hammy-horror videos and album covers, shred-glam guitar sounds and widescreen wild man personality were so integral to growing up in the 80s that it might as well be. He helped define what rock sounded like in that decade and for anyone who spent time programming the video recorder for The Power Hour, Raw Power and Noisy Mothers in the deep, dark small hours on ITV, Ozzy was inescapable. We grew up with him. We knew and got to know the musicians he picked. We knew the bands he toured with. He’s always been there, a connector of souls.

The only Ozzy records in my stash* are Tribute and the Just Say Ozzy live EP so they’re being revisited right now. Suicide Solution and I Don’t Know always, always work. Records like this are inseparable from teenage memories, even down to the way they feel – the Tribute record cover is oddly grainy.

Funny to think that Geezer Butler played on Just Say Ozzy. The rotation and crossover of band members in the post-70s Sabbath/Ozzy orbit blows your mind, as does Ozzy’s ultimately short-sighted approach towards playing his former band’s tracks. In the sleeve notes, he wrote, “The Sabbath songs – to have recorded them one last time with Geezer Butler, Zakk and Randy, says it all for me. It’s a chapter of my life I can now close.”

That was 1990. But the chapter didn’t close – not until July 2025.

Farewell, Ozzy Osbourne.

*adding a couple of CDs now though. Diary of a Madman and No Rest for the Wicked are the chosen ones

Ozzy Osbourne and Randy Rhoads - Tribute album cover
Double tribute

MUSIC FOR CAT & FIDDLE 4: Michael Chapman

MICHAEL CHAPMAN – 50

Driving under fog – or so it seems. Cloud skims the roof of the car until the incline takes us up and at it. Into the milk.

The soundtrack to this journey through trapped daylight is Sometimes You Just Drive by Michael Chapman. With its loose, locomotive rhythm and pedal steel tints, it echoes the wide open American west … by way of long, deep Yorkshire roots.

Chapman was 75 or 76 when he released 50. Backed by a bunch of younger players from the folk/roots/experimental scene, Steve Gunn among them, it’s a vital, honest sounding album. The voice might be weighted by mortality but the finger-picking remains ageless.

Let’s not pretend that I know anything about Michael Chapman, though. This album was my first encounter, followed by True North – the last album he recorded – and Americana. So, there’s quarry-loads of Chapman yet to mine but since first hearing 50, it’s become a winter fixture. Memphis in Winter shows why – and it’s not just for the title.

“We’re past the end of nowhere, all along the worn-out plain
Where the devil lies in waiting
And it gets too dark to rain.
It gets too dark to rain.”

If we submit to music’s potential for seasonal and environmental appropriation (which is pretty much the point of these Cat & Fiddle posts) then the busker’s stomp of a beat in Memphis takes on a quickening air, like it’s trying to outrun a biting chill. Electric guitar, sliding in late with frayed distortion and lived-in experience, delivers the flickering licks of much needed heat.

And that’s where we’re going to leave 50. The loping lilt of The Prospector and the electrifying flourishes over Rosh Pina‘s hypnotic picking are among the many riches, but this isn’t meant to be a review. Instead, it’s an association, an evocation of a sound and a spirit that lives up to the surroundings – which, on this drive, look something like this:

Michael Chapman: moor reflections

Cue it up while it’s still cold.

Note:
Ryley Walker played Sheffield a few days ago at the Sidney & Matilda. Solo set, wholly acoustic, stunning as you’d expect. He mentioned Michael Chapman. Said Chapman liked this song of his, which he then played. Think it was The Roundabout. Don’t quote me, but do go check Ryley if you haven’t already.

More music for Cat and Fiddle

MUSIC FOR CAT & FIDDLE 3: Catherine Graindorge & Iggy Pop

CATHERINE GRAINDORGE – THE DICTATOR EP

Storm Darragh made this drive a wild one. Moors and skies packed with portent – a glove-like fit for The Dictator.

Everyone knows Iggy has a voice for the spoken word. You hear it with Death in Vegas on Aisha. You hear it on Avenue B with She Called Me Daddy. You hear it every week on BBC 6 Music, grizzled as hell but warm as hell too, inviting you in hearth-side for anecdotes and insights on music. It’s a voice to sink into. And here, set to music that follows the contours of the peaks outside, it’s a voice to feed your imagination.

The music is far from Iggy’s riotous past, though not unexpected given his later output. Belgian violinist and composer Catherine Graindorge is the visionary, crafting four tracks of string-driven moods, shimmering electronics and haunting atmospherics. No percussion, no signposted beats – just surges, pulses, drifts and searing trails of light. Iggy relays poetic warnings in The Dictator, then takes an introspective turn on Mud I and Mud II:

I walk along the river
in a thick fog.
You tell me about a book your father once gave you.
In my head turns this melody – no words.
And you read me a princess story
from a distance.

Pop’s words with Graindorge’s soundscapes? WIN. The instrumental last track of the EP, named Iggy in honour of the voice, echoes the violin-bow taps Jimmy Page did on Dazed and Confused live but here the mood is ethereal, not theatrical … a foundation for a symphonic swell which, like everything else, matches the land and the season.

Storm Darragh meets The Dictator

Try it. Add this EP to your cold weather listens, maybe even pair it up with Neil Young’s Dead Man soundtrack – and not just for the Pop connection. There’s a rustic, earthy spirit running through both.

More Music for Cat and Fiddle

MUSIC FOR CAT & FIDDLE 2: Low

LOW – HEY WHAT

F*CK. ME. This is it.

Then again: it’s Low so what do we expect? And when do you listen to Low?

They’re a band I can’t play any time or too often because they’re just too intense, too special – especially those last two albums. Low seem to have a direct line to something way deeper than the rest of us. After pressing play on Hey What in the car, I become aware that the opening track White Horses builds in noise and distortion completely in sync with the incline and the gradually emerging, slowly unfolding landscape. Urbanity receding, wild moors welcoming. Beautiful. No, more than that: awesome. This happens to be an ultimate convergence of emotive music and scenery.

But if that wasn’t enough – and it would have been, easily – there’s a divine intervention from the goddess of good timing. White Horses hits peak distortion and noise saturation around 2 minutes 15 seconds – the exact moment a turn round a blind bend reveals the top of the world in full, unending glory.

Breath taken? Damn right. The combination of sound and vision is huge, which explains the F bomb earlier. Rendered speechless.

Low’s fragmented, techno-glitch density opens portals to a parallel universe. But the effect that comes from wrapping their fragile/euphoric harmonising within and around such sonic manipulation is unfathomable and unexplainable. It’s why Hey What and Double Negative transcend so much other music. It’s electro-noise gospel. Those albums just cannot be played in casual conditions that lessen the mystique. They need to be played with intent: night darkness with volume cranked, wild walks in storm force gales, the deepest of snows and winter freezes

or a moody overcast drive on the Cat and Fiddle.

More Music for Cat and Fiddle here.