There’s still something about split seven-inches that carry a buzz of discovery. It’s even better when both acts follow dissimilar visions instead of the label going for the safe option of similar sounding acts.
Lachrymose One comes over like a mash-up of twisty moody art guitar and palm-on-ear folk singing. These twin vocals (both from the band’s core member Richard Mark Warren) move from hospitable harmonies work to confusingly singing different lines / words with the same melodies alongside each other. It’s this mix that makes the song more than just a catchy splintered choppy riffed noisy missive. A punchy finale after the building peals and worn-out lyrics loses blood into a receding buzzing ending. Lachrymose may mean ‘inclined to weep’ but it’s the flipside that’s more likely to cause heartbreak.
The now defunct Sansava (who have since metamorphosed into the ache fest solo project Summer Night Air) offer a criminally brief two-and-a-half minute untitled piece. The understated soft liquid guitar lines give the song a kind of weightless tuneage that unfolds as it progresses. I don’t even think that the word exquisite would be an exaggeration in this case. The brushed drums sound washed out and remote and the slight echo make everything seem like its curling awake in smoke. The temptation to broaden this song by stretching it into a lengthier gorgeous less populated wasteland must have been overwhelming. As satisfying as it is, it niggles that it runs so short, but it’s not enough to spoil what of the track there is.
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