Citing "Threads,"- a 1984 BBC once-off television show depicting the barbaric effects of a nuclear war on Britain and the ensuing horrific aftermath, as their most prominent influence, it wouldn't be unfair to suggest that noise-terrorists 65daysofstatic are a band unlike any other. Hailing from Sheffield, the shows epicentral location, the industrialized "post-rock" (*sigh*-what an awful term of genre) quartet first came to this writers attention in the early hours of a Sunday morning when a splurge of white-noise emanating from the tv erupted the comfort of slumber. Rearing my head somewhat wearily, the silence of my humble abode was intermittently obliterated with a mass scale of cranked-up geeetars and wave upon wave of searing apocalyptic noise. Suffice to say, I couldn't find the remote quickly enough."We will not retreat, this band is unstoppable!," so the introduction went.One would think what followed would perhaps have had a certain Mr. Bush briefing his troops to take a gallant wander around greatest Yorkshire, for it would seem a weapon of mass destruction was being profusely projected through the wailing trajectory of distortion induced amplifiers and inebriating walls of manic sound. It was a long Sunday.
Typically, we're coaxed into "The Destruction Of Small Ideals," with a frittering stutter, amounting to a marriage of piano melody and electrified bliss. Given the genre of music that music-cohorts lazily throw them under, we could be forgiven for conducting a collective sigh of exhaustion, expecting that yes, again, we know what to expect, it has gotten boring at this stage! Not with 65DOS, though- no, no, no! We're never dragged into a slow-trudging exhaustive build-up only to fade into a tiresome charade of nothing much at all. We're chewed up and spat out. This verges from the subtle to the quite wondrously epic, purified by animalistic smashing of drums, and spectacular splatters of sonic soundscapes. " A Failsafe" is the next song to zoom in on the horizon, stealthing through the ears like a jet-fighter on a nihilistic crusade. The music is hyperactive in the extreme, shifting from lulling melodies to frenetic fusions of spasmodic electronica and rock. With "Don't Go Down To Sorrow," we're shifted into a mesmeric jaunt of atmosphere-enhancing piano, laying down the foundations of a stomping noise overload. And oh, how we revel!
There is, however, a certain air of repetitiveness that becomes more apparent as the album wains on. The energy never curtails; in fact, it increases, if anything- but the surprises, the moments of sheer frenzied attacks on the system become less frequent, the panache less obvious. The schizoid exuberance, as with the previous two albums, flails throughout, but we get the distinct feeling that yes, we've heard this, or something very similar before. Not that it's bad, mind. Such cataclysmic tracks such as "Wax Futures" and -breathes in- "The Distant & Mechanised Glow of Eastern European Dance Parties"-breathes out- will have you welcoming the apocalypse in the form of juddering tribal sound. It's consistency in spraying soporific swirls, rising to the airwaves before crashing down into a gargantuan heap impresses delightfully, even if we're left slightly perplexed as to just what has gone on.
In the past few years, I've seen 65DOS perform on two occasions. After the first, I considered suing for damages- my eardrums, my poor, tender eardrums may as well have been prodded at with Satan's poker, such was the horrific after-affect of the show. The second, no such worries- I had nothing left for harm to unravel its self upon. On top of all this, I rate the two shows as two of the most breathtakingly surreal experiences of my life, as do those who I ventured to them with. An experience, I might add, that takes on a myriad of conflicting emotions, each drenched in pulsating emotional undertones. At certain stages, one deliberated over whether to leave the venue itself, or get closer to the stage. The body mixes with the music, energy intertwines, and the walls are ruptured with celebrated blissful noise.It hurts, but we shall dare not complain, because when the pain stops, there's nothing left, and why would we ever want that?
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