Jo Bled - Insect Asleep

 

Released: October 4 

There’s something that’s really uncomfortable about this short album. For all five tracks, there is this persistent sawing, scraping, or even panting sound that never quite lets up. It fades away and becomes a little less prominent at times. It varies in speed and intensity, but is always there, ever present. For the first two tracks, it feels fast and ragged, like a hyperventilating feeling. The second of these two tracks is much faster, with a lot of clomping and rattling to go along with it. It’s a bit hard to describe, but if I had to put it to words, this albums feels a lot like a panic attack. Or at least it does for me. 

Solidifying this feeling for me is the fact that I can’t quite ascertain what this sound is. It could very well be quick shaky breaths or it could just be a repetitive scratching. Either way, it feels so panicked, like it is just clawing at the walls and the floors to escape whatever room it is being held in to no avail. The pure claustrophobia of this album short album made it both difficult to listen to and captivating to hear. The big note here is that I say “captivating” in a sense not to be likened to instilling wonder or amazement. Rather, I mean it as in a feeling of being held captive. For just about half an hour, I couldn’t turn it off or tune out. The real quirk of this noisy little album is that it refuses to let you push it into the background, even with its repetitive nature. It insists that you hear its panic, its desperation, its bizarre feral energy. 

I am quite literally out of words to describe this. In fact, I am feeling the nervous energy of confinement just recalling the scratching sounds. Recommending listening to cautiously.