Astreal
Fragments Of The Same Dead Star
[Wallwork/EMI]

by Mark Wong

Can the meaning of a precise moment appear all at once? It need hardly be pointed out: only the succession of moments can become clear. One moment has meaning only in its relation to other moments. We are at each instance only fragments deprived of meaning if we do not relate these fragments to other fragments. How can we refer to this completed whole?

– Georges Bataille, The Tears of Eros, 1961.

People they come together
People they fall apart
No one can stop us now
'Cause we are all made of stars

– Moby, ‘We are All Made of Stars’, from 18, 2002.


The title of Astreal’s second album, Fragments of the Same Dead Star, combines the astronomical idea that we are biochemically composed of the cosmic detritus of exploded stars (something that Moby already clumsily disseminated into pop culture a few years ago) with Romeo and Juliet’s star-crossed lovers. As vocalist and bassist Ginette Chittick puts it, it’s about how “you spend your life looking for that one soulmate who came from the same dead star as you.” Suitably, the album plays out like a space rock drama. Compared to the moonshine magick of Ouijablush, Fragments is less MBV and more M83, an indication of how the band’s sound has changed especially with the addition of a second guitarist, Nick Chan, who also dons the producer’s hat as MUON.

In fact, MUON’s touch can be seen all over, from the ambitious clash of indie and electronica to the album’s punchy sound. This in-your-face production is a double-edged sword, initially thrilling like standing in the face of a rocket blast but which grows increasingly taxing in the course of an album that exceeds seventy minutes.

Not surprisingly, the album’s finest moments come at the start. Opener ‘Projektion’ is an instrumental burner that plays on the band’s name, recalling Ouijablush’s occultism and promising, literally, an out-of-this-world experience. This is promptly kept in the next and best song on the album, ‘Lover and the Sea’. This song stands out in two ways.

Firstly, unleashing a searing urgency in its spry drums and twin combustion guitars, and with its reiterated coaxings to go “Forward/ In every way”, this is really the only song on the album that exudes an affirming energy and expresses a desire for progression while also keeping the discipline to contain itself within four minutes. This is significant for an album which, as mentioned, floats bloated, with eight of its fourteen songs crossing the five minute mark.

Secondly, ‘Lover and the Sea’ sets out the main themes of the album, mixing love (Eros) with a death instinct (Thanatos), recalling the French pornographer/ philosopher Georges Bataille, who sought the intimate connections between sex and death, the sacred and the profane. Playing the sultry space siren, Ginette double tracks breathy speak/ sing parts with a psychosexual intensity on ‘Lover and the Sea’, positing “dying” as a way of “moving forward”, and echoing Bataille down to his oceanic imagery: “If the union of two lovers comes about through love, it involves the idea of death, murder or suicide. This aura of death is what denotes passion [...] Erotic activity, by dissolving the separate beings that participate in it, reveals their fundamental continuity, like the waves of a stormy sea” (Eroticism, 1957). The lovers on Fragmentsof the Same Dead Star are literally drowning—not from, but in—love, from a song like ‘Death and Glitter’ to the “words and knives” of ‘This is Dormant’.

These lullabies to violence culminate in ‘Losing You’, which chronicles a relationship which goes from “meeting... wanting… fucking” to “screaming… hitting... leaving” and finally “slamming… dying”. These gerundic verses are delivered coolly over spacey electronica blips before the final refrain has Momat igniting a scorching guitar riff as Ginette adds wryly, “Funny how it hurts to love.”

The love-pain-sex-death connection is, unfortunately, played to death. Too many of the songs are pitched in similar emo-dramas to less successful effect, particularly when songs are stuck in a melodic and lyrical lock groove, repetitiously chugging in their own cycles of dramatics. ‘Control’, for example, churns out line after line about “die (feeling) all alone/ as your world turns so cold (to grey)/ as you sit (die) in your room/ as your world turns so old (goes astray)” in the verses, then, like magnetic poetry, mixes up and recombines the phrases for the chorus. This could still have worked if the music was more engaging, which it isn’t.

The appearance of ‘June 12’ — a song originally found on Ouijablush, sung by original singer Melissa Lim — while well-recorded and a gem on Fragments, also points to a time when Astreal was known for writing simpler but stronger and more heartfelt songs. The band does well, though, in re-recording the inimitably bombastic live favourite, ‘Snowflake’, cutting off half a minute from the seven-minute version found on the Projektion EP and sounding fitter (and leaving listeners happier).

On the next track, however, we are faced with an inexplicable reprise of ‘Projektion’, which just strikes me as suicidal on an album that ends up at least four songs too long. This much is clear: while Fragments of the Same Dead Star has its moments of sheer reverie, it’s just one too many fragments of the same old, same old dead star for me.

Ecrus Garage
Oceans
[self-released single]

by Mark Wong

I have always been drawn to the name Ecrus Garage — something about how the first word is pronounced (or how I have been pronouncing it, anyway): the sharp “ACK” swiftly coaxed by a soothing “rus” (to rhyme with “nurse”) always conveyed something cosy and classy. Juxtaposed to “garage”, it suggests music that would feel sophisticated yet raw and endearing like a comfortable hum.

The other thing is that I’d always thought “ecrus” was a made-up word and that whoever in the band made it up was a genius. So it’s funny that while researching for this review, I found out that it could actually be the plural of “ecru”, which is a “greyish to pale yellow or light greyish-yellowish brown”. Also, it comes from the French “ écru”, which means “raw, unbleached”. I’m not completely sure but given its French origins, “ecrus” might be pronounced “ACK-roo” instead (with a silent “s”).

Now, even though a band name can’t really be an indicator of how a band sounds (and music history is filled with bands with terrible names but whose music made up for it), a good band name can really heighten the appreciation of a band’s music. This rings true for Ecrus Garage. There is something raw yet elegant about them, a diamond in the rough that—god forbid—you should think of polishing because you’ll mess with that rough-hewn quality that made it special in the first place.


This single contains the studio cut, ‘Oceans’, followed by two live recordings, ‘Drown in Me’ and ‘Stellar’, and a radio edit of the A-side. ‘Oceans’, with its cascading E-bow, is a moody anthem with the epic rushes of U2 but with a looser, more unhinged quality. ‘Drown in Me’, played with acoustic guitars, is earnest without spilling into puppy-dog Coldplay territory. ‘Stellar’ is a charm from start to fuzzy end, beginning with a playfully ominous hook then expanding naturally into its rousing refrain.

The band has a consistently melancholic ‘80s pall hanging over them although the music is also suffused with a warm empathy that reassures as it inspires. Front man Roz’s voice is snug and balmy and although one suspects he doesn’t have quite that wide a range, the music wisely never pushes him to go where he shouldn’t. And of course, where Roz and Ecrus Garage should stay is in the yellow-grey-brown half-light that their name suggests, making music that is as halcyon as moon glow or as evocative as a crumpled handful of sepia photos.

(Email ecrusgarage@yahoo.com.sg to enquire about their CD.)

Tien
Trailing The Idyllic Eclat Nova
[Focal Pro Solutions]

by Lounge Lizard

Tien offers 6 tunes in its debut EP Travelling The Idyllic Eclat Nova (which serves as the acronym for the band’s moniker, geddit?). While the song quantity seems bountiful for an EP, you can’t help this nagging feeling that you have heard these tunes before. Citing defunct American modern rock act Creed as one of their main inspirations, the 5-piece rock band swims in the same waters. It doesn’t help that lead pipes Nicholas also known as Fat Nick has styled his baritone vocals after Creed’s ex-frontman, Scott Stapp.

The best song written about Superman has already been done by The Flaming Lips. Tien attempts their take on the run-of-the-mill topic on ‘Superman’s Girl’ without the emotional resonance captured by Wayne Coyne and his acid-tripping buddies. Instead, we get a guy pleading with a chick, ‘It’s Superman’s girl I love/ I ain’t Clark Kent/ Please don’t discriminate me/ Just because I don’t wear underpants”. Seriously, dudes. The song ends with a cry “I’d like to save the world”, a cliché sentiment typical of all Superman-themed songs. It wasn’t that hard to see how the tune would end up.

The band redeems itself with the plaintive ballad ‘Dancing With You’ and the Fountains Of Wayne-inspired, upbeat number ‘The Guy Behind’. Keeping the punkish number short and sweet works in their favour.

Tien keeps close to its comfort zone of boy-meets-girl-and-faces-unrequited-love and failed relationship as subject matters. At least, the band doesn’t overstretch itself at any point of time. As evident, its motives were clear: delivering unpretentious songs and tunes with memorable, catchy hooks. Though the band succeeds on the 1st count, it’s a shame to see the band struggling on the 2nd.