In the documentary “A labyrinth of time”, Elliott Carter describes the world as a place of confusion, in which individual elements are sometimes cancelled out by the sheer magnitude of voices whispering, speaking and screaming at the same time. It is an insight which might well have been at the heart of “Graphorrhea”, an album which no longer searches for a singular truth but instead tries to capture reality in all of its contradictions and opposing strands of thought.

Comparing a noise project to one of the seminal composers of the 20th century may seem outlandish, but the Carter-connection runs even deeper. Just like him, Critikal have expressed themselves most clearly in a Quartet form (after the band innitially started out a trio). And then, both have a preference of transferring their view of society directly to the realms of sound.

Which means that each performer within the group seems to have both an enormous amount of freedom at his disposal while also fulfilling a pivotal function in the context of the collective: Seldomly has an imprrovisation been a more lively representation of what it means to live in the new millenium. The title of the album already refers to this duality, describing “the writing of long lists of meaningless words, as occurs in some manic disorders.”

While at first seemingly without order, these lists can attain meaning later on, through cerebral processes which have already worked in favour of techniques like cut-up. “Graphorrea”, then, could be understood as an effort of churning out all you have – and trying to make sense of it after the tape’s stopped running.

Some of the most surprising moments on the album work according to this logic, with Death metal bass throes lurking from underneath pulsating distortion fields, torn-apart beat loops or digital sequences morphing incessantly while microclicks and finely threaded glitches swirl around like swarms of homeless bees. The stylistic diversity is enormous, as the ensemble opens with aggressively abrasive textures, but gradually enters a zone, where more nuanced shadings take over, setting free powerful associations and metaphors.

In the final third, especially, the inclusion of drones, both of the comforting and nauseating kind, emphasises the atmospheric side of Critikal, with structures imitating the slow undulating movement of aquatic plants and discreet noises entwining themselves around sustained tonal waves. “Rapture Periods”, placed at the heart of the album, serves as a summary of all of its different poles and shows the daunting sense of layering and timbral demarcation the band are capable of.

Fans of harsh noise will be disappointed, as “Graphorrea” never wallows in ecstatic hollers and even uses complete silence as a natural breath. There is a strong impending notion that the music is headed somewhere instead of merely cherishing the moment in a hedonistic fit. It is a sense of direction which doesn’t deny confusion and chaos, but doesn’t regard them as complete nihilism straight away – and which turns Critikal into a group with a message, even though it may be a wordless one on this account.

By Tobias Fischer

Homepage: Critikal
Homepage: Kvitnu Records