There’s a reality out there (possibly the really weird one where Rimmer is more handsome than Lister) where David Bowie’s Blackstar not only went to the top of the charts, but also ushered in a wonderful new era where the avant-garde became mainstream and jazz became a dominant influence. It is in this reality that Sly and the Family Drone, the London-based neo-noise outfit exist, carving out albums that are short on tracks yet substantial in length. Pressed on glorious, marbled vinyl and released vial Love Love Records, Gentle Persuaders is one hell of a trip upon which to embark, but as with all challenging journeys, the rewards are there for the taking.
Opening with a fourteen-minute excursion, it’s clear that Sly and the Family Drone have no intention of making things easy. Despite the neo-noise tag (which, like all niche genres seems to be a valiant, if misguided attempt to define the indefinable), there is considerable precedent in the echoing noise that starts out as an eerily soothing jazz-band-warm-up and concludes as a cacophonous outpouring. Caught in a weird musical Bermuda triangle between Bitches Brew, Ummagumma and Sonic Death, the haunted saxophone at the outset presages something ominous, whilst swathes of sheet metal noise emerge at roughly the half-way point to disconcert the listener. Using a similar technique to the Swans, Sly and the Family Drone’s modus operandi is to take a simple motif, then repeat and augment until the fractured remnants are barely recognisable as the melody with which they started. Percussion is sparse and ad hoc, seemingly based around the sort of industrial kit more typically found in an Einsturzende Neubauten show, but it builds to a formidable groove towards the track’s conclusion, before the whole fades into darkness.
Harsh feedback announces the arrival of the sonically punishing New free spirits falconry and horsemanship Display, the shortest track on offer at just over five-minutes in length. Built around a thunderous percussive loop that harks back to the early industrial hell of Swans (think Raping a slave), the saxophone becomes an ominous instrument, played way beyond its natural limits and producing a sonic scree that is closer to the sound of overloaded amps than woodwind. A fair sonic approximation of what discomfort sounds like, it’s something of a relief when the metallic ambience of votive offerings proves to be a more atmospheric piece and, whilst it does build to a more frenetic pace, the first half of the track provides some respite from the hulking drone of its predecessor. The album ends with the harrowing Jehova’s Wetness, a tough, metallic closer that seems to throb and shimmer in a dense heat haze. Few bands sound so confident in their exploration of the unknown and yet Sly and the Family Drone seem unfazed by the caustic layers of noise they summon out of the ether. It is a fittingly dramatic conclusion to a hypnotic record.
That this album is not for everyone is surely axiomatic. This is a beautifully-recorded and packaged maelstrom of noise that will find favour with those who enjoy roaming the boundary line between art and music. By turns mesmerising and cataclysmic, Gentle Persuaders is a genuinely unique expansion upon the music pioneered in the pressure cooker environment of No Wave New York, filtering that sound through the darkest jazz imaginable and drawing the listener along on a journey that, whilst fraught with hazard, proves entirely worthwhile. 8.5
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