If the last few years have been heavily affected by the sounds coming out of the Balearic from the mid to late nineties, it stands to follow that the next few might chronicle to spiralling, out of control variations on the movement that followed. The music that Elekseveneks make falls way short of being euphoric, and comes across as if the concept of a ‘floorfiller’ is an alien one to them, whilst still being a million miles away from a chill-out classic.
In actual fact, the music the band is both demanding and sparse, the bleak arrangements somehow becoming cruel and energy sapping. Anyone can make a brutal, punishing record simply by being a sociopath who only deals in distortion and feedback, but this is dark, almost sinister, lurking in the corners. Perhaps it’s the fact that there’s so little to grasp, the minimalism of each of the tracks slipping through your fingers before you can truly get a feel for it. There are the odd glimpses of a tune, of warmth behind the veil, but those are few and far between, but this is largely a war of attrition that still manages to be riveting whilst almost leading to a headache. Better get the paracetamol ready.