Certain artists, whether familiar or not, can so utterly blindside you when you hit play, that you find yourself lost from the outset. Such is the case with Stupor, the stunning new album from Bebawinigi (the alter ego of Virginia Quaranta), which proves to be something genuinely progressive in a world where the term usually means “to sounds like Genesis”. Bebawinigi, according to Virginia, is “the graceless, grotesque, disturbing and inherently flawed creature that lies in each one of us”, a fair summation of a creation that sounds, at least at times, like Mike Patton and Bjork had a daughter. To listen to the album, however, is to step into a different world entirely. To use comparison is more out of a need to find a comparative hook for the review, than because Stupor truly sounds like these things, and the most important takeaway is that the album truly sounds like nothing else out there. It’s as shocking as if the explorers in Star Trek were to find aliens that are genuinely alien, rather than humanoids who conveniently speak English, and I can’t escape the feeling that, in hearing Stupor I underwent an experience not dissimilar to those lucky souls who heard The Velvet Underground or Glenn Branca when they first emerged, rather than when their credentials were long established.
Opening track AYAHOO! Instantly hooks you with a sound that sits somewhere between Pixies, Fantomas, Lodger-era David Bowie and Bis. It’s utterly deranged and sounds simultaneously like it has the street smarts of the New York No Wave movement, the inquisitive mind of Avant-garde metal and the dark core of Industrial (specifically, NIN’s Pilgrimage, which sounds like its being battered into submission beneath the surface noise). Yet, this is, it seems, just one facet of Bebawinigi’s meticulously created sound. Next, there’s the skronky trip hop of Mr Fat, which sounds like Garbage, Blondie and The Kills stamping in Peaches at a sleazy disco – it’s strangely addictive for all that it’s completely unexpected, and it would make a strong single. Slowing the pace, Go Back is a slight, art-pop tune, filled with faux-innocent vocals and eerie, childhood noises. An unconventional, yet beautiful piece of music, it recalls some of the more outré experiments found on Sonic Youth’s Washing Machine, and it’s all the better for the way it contrasts with its noisier predecessors. Layers of noise pave the way into Krisis, a track that benefits from deftly interwoven vocals and sheet metal percussion. The lengthy Yeah opens with a drawn out and breathy rendition of the title, slowly expanded into a drawn out acapella soundscape, somewhat reminiscent of Bjork’s Medulla. It is a moment of sheer (if unnerving), beauty that explodes into something altogether more terrifying some two thirds of the way in, when bruising percussion and arcing feedback arrive to shocking effect. As a result, the bizarre, percussive folk of Space is something of a relief, evoking the earthy huts that offer respite and companionship on long mountain climbs. Even here, however, you cannot expect two much in the way of continuity, and the track changes shape as it progresses, stripping away the percussion to allow a mix of eerie vocals and electronic elements to float into view.
Opening the second half of the album, Giu’ Dal Cielo is a psychedelic, yet charmingly naïve piece that evokes children playing in the street at the base of a shattered fire hydrant. Dark percussion returns for the sinister Guarda In Alto, which features what sounds like a cruelly distorted cello, underpinning a track that approximates the sound of Tricky and De Staat covering Paul Simon. Beauty returns on The Call Of The Deep, another track with a cinematic aspect that aims for something truly otherworldly before transforming into a ritualistic dance, led by looped percussion and driven by frantic violin and vocals. It’s an astounding piece, more conventional in the sense that it steps to a beat you can understand, but the fire of the performance is real, and to step too close, or for too long, is to risk getting burnt. Sitting somewhere in a similar realm, the dark neo-folk of Camomilla feels like a combination of Bee and Flower and Angels of Light, the intensity of Bebawinigi’s delivery the equal of Gira’s hypnotic presence. Skittering noise and circuit-damaged electronica pave the way into the trippy Zichi, while, in contrast, the listener finds themselves lost in the cinematic Let The Game…, which sounds like the last minutes of sailors bound for siren-inhabited rocks. An eerie, ambient piece that haunts the senses, it abruptly evolves into an industrial stomp worthy of Peaches, just in case you weren’t paying attention. It all ends with a cover of In The Hall Of The Mountain King and, if you think you’ve heard it before, think again, for it’s quite the most bizarre version you’ll ever hear and one which I shall not describe for fear of ruining the surprise.
Over the course of running this site, I’ve encountered a fair number of albums which sound genuinely unique. Even so, Stupor is a remarkable piece of work, not least because it manages to be both utterly avant-garde and yet impressively accessible. Progressive, yet never aloof, there is a human quality to the record that is irresistible and, if influences abound (elements of Mike Patton, Bjork, Tricky, Sonic Youth, Trent Reznor and David Bowie can all be found), they’re worked in such a way that the result is always unique, never derivative. It is an immense album, and one to which I have had to listen numerous times to garner even this level of understanding. A wholly worthwhile, genuinely mesmerising trip, Stupor is a work of art, no more and no less, and for those wishing to genuinely journey beyond the familiar, I can think if no better vehicle. 9.5/10
