Review Summary: Wrong turn on Mulholland Drive...
Black metal embraces strange. After all, the whole genre was, at the barest minimum of bare minimums, founded by outcasts and their unconventional (read: not necessarily legal or nice) actions. Then you’ve got the costumes, and the face paint, and the names like Gigadevil Christdestroyer, and mythos so exaggerated L. Ron Hubbard would tell you to scale it back a bit, and really anything else that can be thrown out into the wild. That’s all very silly--all of which is to say that Dutch black metallers Laster undoubtedly belong in this conglomerate of strange bedfellows. Their brand of ceremonial mayhem involves no goat sacrifice, no blood-drinking binge session, no
whatever else; instead, on
Andermans Mijne, the intrepid trio have constructed the black metal equivalent of a post-punk disco ball. The group’s fourth record is a trip downtown winding through blurry neon lighting like a B-movie noir film reel, twisting around until landing in a bar where David Lynch designed the scenery and it’s like stepping into the uncanny valley. What ensues is a wonderful mixture of black metal zaniness, danceability, and surprisingly addictive hooks.
The percussion performance paves the way through the mayhem. Under its command, new dimensions erupt on a whim; the opening title track transforms from dizzying dissonance into a jazzy, upbeat, foot-tapping rhythm; a flurry of chaotic blast beats penetrate the jangly post-punk energy of “Poëtische waarheid,” concocting what comes across as demented surfer metal; and the doom-like, groovy interior of “Achterstevoren” evolves into a sprint, paving the way for distorted tremolos to darken the landscape and ramping up the aggression of the reverberating bass. The drumming consistently manages to immaculately balance the stylistic shifts the group engage in, providing both a stable foundation for tracks to develop from and ushering movements between black metal violence and off-kilter post-punk forays, which helps to make the disc’s unnatural match-ups feel seamlessly integrated. As if to give a nod to this superb performance, “Afgelopen tijd” clears the way for a thrilling solo, firmly planting a spotlight on the kit wizardry on display. Any remaining blanks are filled in by a chameleon-like guitar--see the aforementioned satanic surfer metal of “Poëtische waarheid,” the labyrinthian riffing of “Vorm alleen” that spirals into an all-consuming dissonance--and a charismatic-as-hell bass that deftly swerves through the chaos, compounding the disc’s rhythmic motions or injecting infectious grooves into proceedings.
Slinking through these diverse corridors reveals an unexpected amount of catchy moments, be it for the addictive noodling of the bass, the sporadic vocal harmonies that rise above the winding guitar passages, or the delightful dance-worthy shenanigans that liberally populate the album’s runtime. Emerging from that pairing is an atmosphere that is every-so-slightly haunting, perfectly encompassing the somewhat uncanny aesthetic of an absurdist flick. A track like “Afgelopen tijd” is a full package in that regard; a twangy lead melody frolics about in front while the bass bounces around in the background, all while the percussion conducts a jazzy section that practically demands spontaneous dancing. The corrosive dissonance is wiped away; in its place is pure post-punk danceability, with a tantalizing, polished groove conquering the scene with a sublime smoothness. The gang’s capable of dishing out an earworm refrain--”Vorm alleen” conducts pandemonium only to gracefully transition into a moody chorus--or purveying unrestrained violence, such as the relentless tidal wave of”Onzichtbare muur.” Each approach possesses its own attractive quality, be it for its memorable nature or loveable heaviness, and it allows the record’s diverse toolset to be on full display.
As expansive as the record’s arrangements are, its circus-like antics never feel out-of-control. Instead,
Andermans Mijne is remarkably concise; it’s 44-minute runtime breezes by, and while there’s plenty of strangeness to go around, it’s far from a gimmick akin to cheap symphonic sampling or bargain-bin occult imagery. Laster earn their odd and simultaneously endearing aesthetic through careful songcraft and captivating individual performances that, when combined, demonstrate incredible cooperation and attention to detail. Though the percussion inevitably demands the most focus, all three of the Dutch gents provide immense depth to proceedings, allowing
Andermans Mijne to be as delicately eerie as it is enticing. Its framework may amount to a discordant, static-ridden dystopia, yet the subtle melodies or jazzy flourishes add both character and surprising color to the fuzzy picture. On top of it all are almost gothic-esque cleans; they seem to cut through the bedlam, like a beckoning from the end of a Lynchian bar where a crowd of grinning, distorted figures await. Consider this Laster’s invitation to the post-punk’d black metal ballroom; the only requirement is to let loose and dissolve into the scenery.
