The jailer flinches when the prisoner slams against the steel, reaches through the gaps in the bars, howls and harangues. But the true terror sets in when they hear the cell’s occupant begins to move quietly, methodically: “They walked in a space even smaller than the confines of the cages made necessary, moving in an area just barely the length of their bodies. A few steps up and turn. A few steps down and turn.” A plan is in motion—one antithetical to the jailer’s wellbeing. Pacing Animal captures that steady seethe of pooling resentment and righteousness on their self-titled debut tape, wrangling heavily distorted textures that writhe and rattle with the patient fury that only a cage can create. There is no fancy digital hardware within these unforgiving confines, only a latrine that’s always overflowing and a filthy food bowl that’s never full; the new Hudson Valley project restricts their palette to the warm-blooded roar of a ragtag analog chain, riding dense torrents of rumbling heavy electronics intermittently gouged by pained yelps of feedback. At time the sound resembles a disintegrating diesel engine, at others an foundation-shaking quake—always brazen and brutal. Slow-burn harsh noise that does not hesitate, but rather bides it time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Copies are available via email: pacinganimal@gmail.com.
Noise Not Music 