“She gave me head on the bed of my dead grandmamma”.
Kiwi exile in Istanbul Ware’s third album in twelve years takes his furious, frustrated, reflections and infuses them with atmosphere, echo and splashes of welcome barminess.
The concept of mellowing as you get older mercifully flies by Ware as his postmodern seethe snarls through even the gentler tracks on all of his releases. His ire knows the importance of a tune to keep the pill wrapped in though, and Nothing, The Knife and No Honey here certainly are resplendent in them.
Due diligence requires mention of fellow brainerd and tonemeister Fatih Aygun, Killing Joke’s Jaz Coleman lookalike, raconteur and backstreets big drinker of the ‘bul. Most non voice/guitar instrumentation and treatments on TIC are his doing, and the seedy threat of brilliantly misleading-named Willow would seem to bear his earprint.
Fantastically jarring as that track is, it’s joined by The Black Moon Architect in the ‘what the fuck was that?’ stakes. Ware can sometimes get somewhat bogged down in his classic rock formations, plumping for a straight 4/4 when a 19/7 might be more refreshing. ‘Infinity’s greatest strength is in retaining his songwriterly reflections while spearing them through with astonishing, if occasional yelps and screes.
Through the twists and turns of dysfunctional relationships, pleas for a deeper understanding and some random come-hither moments, the album resolves itself tenderly in the mature and confident The Hill, the Nick Drakian closing ode. This bookends neatly with opener The Delicate Art of Reflection, a gentle Roger Waters-style lament containing the quote at the start of this review.
Dylan Ware’s greatest strengths are his carefully skewed lyrics, backed up with a stubborn appreciation for tried and tested structures. Aygun’s rhythms and randomly stunning string arrangements set the whole thing off as Ware’s most accomplished set yet. More madness please old boy, it looks good on you.