Kontakte are one of those bands whose music is determined to make all the angst and cares of the world slip away into the place buried far, far away from the territory which they map out with bright-eyed enthusiasm, a landscape participated in through endless journeys and defined by bright colours sharply-defined in broad, dynamic strokes. This is not to deny the hint of melancholia, but as the music shifts the mood evolves into one of hopeful optimism, slipping into the realms of sun-dappled intensity on waves of heart-breaking/soothing strings and ultimately uplifting electronics while the guitars bring the noise as and when the motion can no longer be denied.

As hinted at on the “Superbug” single, the drum machines are performing new duties for Kontakte as compared to the simpler  structures which anchored their 2008 début album Soundtracks To Lost Road Movies. Now, scuttling breakbeats shift the motive forces in less motorik directions, a change of gear at the heart of their sound which is complemented by the strings which ride on the swell of lushly-glimmering synth pads. Sidling in a hiss of vinyl static, crackle and pop, there are hints not only of acts who have explored these electro-symphonic pastures such as Icebreaker International but as ever the kosmische influence of Cluster in their sugartime electronica phase is never entirely absent, nor are the ancestral influence of Manuel Göttsching‘s utopian guitar as played in Ash Ra Tempel. But as heard on the epic rising tide of “Hope,” Kontakte are very much their own band, effortlessly achieving weightless lift-off on a helix swirl of slap-back echoes and heads-down, rocket-fuelled riffing.

It is simply impossible to be remotely unhappy while listening to this album. What is so engaging about We Move Through Negative Spaces though is the balance struck between the deceptively simple way in which a song can go from ultra-pleasant uncoiling ripples of guitar, glockenspiel glimmer and intricate rhythm programming to reach so hard for the stars that this music could be used as soundtrack to an motivational course video aimed at curing the hard of heart or the down of mood. It is simply impossible to be remotely unhappy while listening to this album; wistfully melancholic, perhaps, at the point of maximum immersion in such moving pieces as “A Snowflake In Her Hand,” where the cello and guitar segue together over the background hiss as they rise and ebb into a reflective percussion blissout, but never sad. Instead, Kontakte produce a bitter-sweet elevation of the senses, and achieve a Zen state of balance in the process.

– Richard Fontenoy

original review

On their sophomore album, London’s Kontakte strikes a perculiar but effective balance in textures. We Move Through Negative Spaces is as much informed by ambient music and electronica as it is by towering post-rock acts like Sigur Ros. Guitars ring out and build quiet layers, only to crash in distorted storms of sound later, while under it all programmed beats shuffle and blip. When the mix hits true, it achieves a deep rumble—“With Glowing Hearts” and closer “The Ocean Between You and Me” are slow-burn standouts—and it shows a compellingly seamless mesh between the organic and the technological. In a few spots, like the muscled churn of “Hope…”, the mix seems to miss the crashing live drums that the guitars call for, and in those cases there’s something slightly off kilter about the results. All in all, though, this is a unique slice of evocative, cinematic music. If these guys do in fact move through negative spaces, damned if they don’t fill them up quickly with this haunting sound.

Original Review

Kontakte are, as well as being a dab-hand at subverting the ol’ spell checker, a London based four-piece creating sparse post-rock sounds capes of melody with an electronic twist. Think Mogwai or 65daysofstatic segueing in and out with a drum machine driven Radiohead and you’re sort of there. We Move Through Negative Spaces is the second studio album from these guys after 2009’s debut of Soundtracks To Lost Road Movies.

Since that album the band have spent their time locked away in isolation through the months, meticulously planning a new batch of songs to entice listeners ears with. It is said that each track was written with the others in mind, with a strong awareness of how each would sit next to the other and be consumed as an album – a continuous hour of music. This is certainly apparent from the faux record scratches and pops that peak out from between the relative quiet spaces between the tracks; the tracks that all lay in the post-six minutes in length region (all but the haunting softly spoken acoustics and violin flourishes of ‘Every Passing Hour’), such is their expansiveness.

The album is full of reverberating walls of sound, whether it’s the hazy synthetic thrum of ‘Astralagus’, or the glitch-core drum machine marvels of ‘Hope…’ and its sudden eruption of guitar attack intensity. Even the placid, deep space hum of ten-minute album closer ‘The Ocean Between You And Me’ and its cheeky xylophone refrains are a wonder to listen to.

We Move Through Negative Spaces is nothing new, nothing groundbreaking. There isn’t a catchy chorus or bit you can dance to in sight, and yet, it all flows so smoothly, working as a calming, coherent package. The tracks are masterfully crafted with layers of guitars and other sounds working together throughout the hour of instrumental joys. This is the perfect album to put you to sleep. In the best possible way.

Original Review

Technology pulls us ever onward, whether we like it or not. Labour-saving devices give us greater leisure time, yet the free moments we gain seem increasingly fractured and pressurised. From the simple, hard, agrarian way of life rendered obsolete by the Industrial Revolution, to the equally game-changing advance of digital communications technology within our own lifetimes, burdens of toil once considered inevitable are lifted, while once-undreamt-of possibilities are placed easily within reach. The old tasks can be achieved so much quicker, but the list of new things to do can seem almost infinite. And as with so many revolutions, the saviour can soon turn tyrant, as we find we are merely marching to the beat of a different drum; a drum that beats faster with every round.

Such is the train of thought triggered by listening to Kontakte’s second album: a record of sweeping, skyscraping post-rock instrumentals driven – indeed characterised – by the spring-coiled skittergrind beats of its IDM-influenced electronic drum programmes. At its best, as on ‘Early Evening Bleeds into Night,’ where the low drone of ominous strings and sombre piano notes are ever harried by clicking, nagging clicks, whirrs and taps, the music seems to act as a metaphor for the human condition and its relationship with its own technological advances. It’s in the way the organic musical sounds always seem to want to hang back, slow and spacious, exploring each moment, letting the sadness and the possibilities resonate in the spaces between the notes, while the mechanical rhythm track is constantly urging them forward. If it acts as an irritant then it’s also enlivening, providing purpose and forward momentum where otherwise there might just be navel-gazing reveries, decadent dreams and languid, Proustian yearnings for days lost, as represented here by the keening, almost Romany violin-like lead guitar melody.

Second track, ‘Hope…’is typical, sounding like a machine-driven, mid-period Mogwai, the familiar (if still effective) quiet-loud clichés giving way to an exhilarating rush as the drums charge maniacally ahead of the endlessly descending guitars, which resolutely refuse to move beyond an elegiac plod as ripples of unfolding melody ascend, Cure-like, to the seemingly singular surface. On ‘The Owls Won’t See Us In Here,’ the beats even sound like whip cracks, driving a musical wagon train that seems to shape-shift, under their relentless urging, from an aging mule on a mountain path to a western steam train in full reckless flight before our inner eye. And the crisp, melodic, bell-like guitar refrain of ‘With Glowing Hearts’ is forced first this way then that by nagging, nipping, mosquito-like percussive tics, until corrugated sheets of metallic noise descend on every side, penning the tune within.

Elsewhere, as on ‘A Snowflake in Her Hand’, the electronics are less intrusive, complementing rather than battling against the natural flow of the organic instruments, which are allowed to move forward at their own pace. Both approaches work, but Kontakte’s music is most interesting when the tensions are exaggerated and explored, with melody and rhythm pulling against each other and forging new, unexpected shapes as a result.

Unfortunately, Kontakte seem too often content to ape the standard clichés of grandiose, “cinematic” post-rock, as laid down originally by the likes of Mogwai, Godspeed! You Black Emperor and Explosions in the Sky, and since become over-familiar film and TV soundtrack fodder. Opening track ‘Astrolagus’ is a case in point, as is ‘Every Passing Hour,’ where weeping guitars, piano and fake-analog hum are arranged over a distant recording of children playing- surely the post-rock equivalent of the ‘funky drummer’ beat in old school hip-hop. It then fades into the inevitable ten-minute-plus closing track, which needless to say builds slowly towards an epic crescendo of nothing in particular. Even the predictably pretentious title (‘The Ocean Between You and Me’) makes it sound as though it were written for an airline advert; canned gravitas, instant significance, pop-out portent, a sense of drama without narrative or consequence.

It’s a criticism that could be levelled at many of their peers however, and Kontakte are by no means the guiltiest party when it comes to painting epic-by-numbers. As technology enables anyone with the inclination to conjure mad orchestral follies nightly in their bedroom, so musical movements that would not long ago have been emotionally devastating now seem merely run of the mill, and sounds that were once jaw-dropping now just leave us jaded. Played loud enough, at the right moment, possibly outdoors on a warm night (but still with a certain chill in the air), this album could still have the power to stir you profoundly. It remains to be seen whether you, or I, or anyone, can still make time enough in our lives for that to happen.

Technology pulls us ever onward, whether we like it or not. Labour-saving devices give us greater leisure time, yet the free moments we gain seem increasingly fractured and pressurised. From the simple, hard, agrarian way of life rendered obsolete by the Industrial Revolution, to the equally game-changing advance of digital communications technology within our own lifetimes, burdens of toil once considered inevitable are lifted, while once-undreamt-of possibilities are placed easily within reach. The old tasks can be achieved so much quicker, but the list of new things to do can seem almost infinite. And as with so many revolutions, the saviour can soon turn tyrant, as we find we are merely marching to the beat of a different drum; a drum that beats faster with every round.

Such is the train of thought triggered by listening to Kontakte’s second album: a record of sweeping, skyscraping post-rock instrumentals driven – indeed characterised – by the spring-coiled skittergrind beats of its IDM-influenced electronic drum programmes. At its best, as on ‘Early Evening Bleeds into Night,’ where the low drone of ominous strings and sombre piano notes are ever harried by clicking, nagging clicks, whirrs and taps, the music seems to act as a metaphor for the human condition and its relationship with its own technological advances. It’s in the way the organic musical sounds always seem to want to hang back, slow and spacious, exploring each moment, letting the sadness and the possibilities resonate in the spaces between the notes, while the mechanical rhythm track is constantly urging them forward. If it acts as an irritant then it’s also enlivening, providing purpose and forward momentum where otherwise there might just be navel-gazing reveries, decadent dreams and languid, Proustian yearnings for days lost, as represented here by the keening, almost Romany violin-like lead guitar melody.

Second track, ‘Hope…’is typical, sounding like a machine-driven, mid-period Mogwai, the familiar (if still effective) quiet-loud clichés giving way to an exhilarating rush as the drums charge maniacally ahead of the endlessly descending guitars, which resolutely refuse to move beyond an elegiac plod as ripples of unfolding melody ascend, Cure-like, to the seemingly singular surface. On ‘The Owls Won’t See Us In Here,’ the beats even sound like whip cracks, driving a musical wagon train that seems to shape-shift, under their relentless urging, from an aging mule on a mountain path to a western steam train in full reckless flight before our inner eye. And the crisp, melodic, bell-like guitar refrain of ‘With Glowing Hearts’ is forced first this way then that by nagging, nipping, mosquito-like percussive tics, until corrugated sheets of metallic noise descend on every side, penning the tune within.

Elsewhere, as on ‘A Snowflake in Her Hand’, the electronics are less intrusive, complementing rather than battling against the natural flow of the organic instruments, which are allowed to move forward at their own pace. Both approaches work, but Kontakte’s music is most interesting when the tensions are exaggerated and explored, with melody and rhythm pulling against each other and forging new, unexpected shapes as a result.

Unfortunately, Kontakte seem too often content to ape the standard clichés of grandiose, “cinematic” post-rock, as laid down originally by the likes of Mogwai, Godspeed! You Black Emperor and Explosions in the Sky, and since become over-familiar film and TV soundtrack fodder. Opening track ‘Astrolagus’ is a case in point, as is ‘Every Passing Hour,’ where weeping guitars, piano and fake-analog hum are arranged over a distant recording of children playing- surely the post-rock equivalent of the ‘funky drummer’ beat in old school hip-hop. It then fades into the inevitable ten-minute-plus closing track, which needless to say builds slowly towards an epic crescendo of nothing in particular. Even the predictably pretentious title (‘The Ocean Between You and Me’) makes it sound as though it were written for an airline advert; canned gravitas, instant significance, pop-out portent, a sense of drama without narrative or consequence.

It’s a criticism that could be levelled at many of their peers however, and Kontakte are by no means the guiltiest party when it comes to painting epic-by-numbers. As technology enables anyone with the inclination to conjure mad orchestral follies nightly in their bedroom, so musical movements that would not long ago have been emotionally devastating now seem merely run of the mill, and sounds that were once jaw-dropping now just leave us jaded. Played loud enough, at the right moment, possibly outdoors on a warm night (but still with a certain chill in the air), this album could still have the power to stir you profoundly. It remains to be seen whether you, or I, or anyone, can still make time enough in our lives for that to happen.

original thesis

Our Rating:          

They may have shared stages with Damo Suzuki, Fuck Buttons and A Place to Bury Strangers, but the most obvious reference point for Kontakte is Explosions in the Sky. There’s no question over Kontakte’s capacity to produce luscious, chiming post-rock soundscapes punctuated by kaleidoscopic crescendos on a colossal scale, driven by dense waves of guitars that add texture and grain to the smooth, layered sounds. 

That they’ve also appeared alongside Vessels and Worriedaboutsatan is equally telling, in the way they draw on the dreamy, drifting sonic spaces of the former, while subtly incorporating elements of the moody electronica of the latter, and to particularly good effect. This is demonstrated in particular on ‘The Owls Won’t see Us In Here’, which adds glitchy beats that eventually give way to a rapidfire drum machine rhythms. These should be at odds with the soaring crescendo of guitars, but in fact works perfectly, not least of all because it breaks the post-rock mould. 

As such, the eight intricate noodling epics that comprise ‘We Move Through Negative Spaces’ are archetypal examples of the post-rock genre. Yet, at the same time, they see the band nudge at the parameters and slowly inch them further toward new realms. 

original review

This has been sitting in my queue of things to do for some time now and shamefully it has been overlooked. However, having arrived in Poland for a brief break and with my trusty netbook to hand, it seemed like high time to give a few releases a spin which I happen to have available in a handy digital format and I’m glad I did because Kontakte deal in the sort of gentle, tripped out ambient splendour that you might imagine Mogwai jamming on early Porcupine Tree material creating.

Opening with the rippling guitar ambience and programmed drums of ‘Astralagus’, We move through negative spaces immediately strikes you with how gloriously open it all sounds. Like the best elements of Mogwai’s Happy music for happy people filtered through Ennio Morricone’s epic visions of grandeur, the guitars exist as a hurricane, gusting huge clouds of sand across the lens, scratching and obscuring the magnificent view and stirring emotion while the gentle trip-hop style drums provide the perfect backing for the monumental noise at the forefront of the band’s sound. Offering a similar styling, ‘hope’ begins as the saddest song you’ve ever heard before mutating into a storm of distorted guitars which rage away behind the deceptively simple melody which leads the listener through the white noise to the songs broken-hearted conclusion. ‘With glowing hearts’ is a gentler beast, opening with a softly-picked guitar whilst ever-so-slowly building towards a crescendo in the style of Mogwai’s unstoppable ‘Mogwai fear Satan’ although with greater emphasis on electronic elements to help scape the sound and a hint of Sigur ros lurking away in the background adding to the feeling of a subtle sadness that infuses the tracks but never takes hold completely. Indeed, as with most music that can be described either as post-rock or ambient the onus is really upon the listener to provide the interpretation with each track like a canvas, crying out to be painted with whatever images the music brings to mind.

Another gently emotive track, ‘early evening bleeds into night’ has a scattershot beat providing a skeletal backdrop for the piano and guitar-led tune with the band throwing everything but the kitchen sink at the song production-wise leading to an immense denouement that couples strings, drums, guitar and more to show-stopping effect over the course of its six minute run time. As befits its delicate title, ‘a snowflake in her hand’ starts out in a haze of static before a tune quietly raises itself above the hum and proves to be one of the most heart-breaking of the lot. As with all the tracks here, there is a strong soundtrack feel to the music and when the strings kick in it all becomes a bit too much to take with the beauty and sorrow invested in the music threatening to unleash the sort of emotions that contemporary music has no right to have access to. It’s a testament to the skill of the band and the countless hours they put into the composition that their music can have such an effect and it recalls the first time I sat, in wonder, listening to Spiritualized ‘Ladies and gentlemen we are floating in space’ or stood in a beautifully constructed fifteenth century venue in Wroclaw watching the Red Sparrowes lay waste to the faithful few who had turned out to witness their performance making this very obviously the sort of record you will return to time and time again. ‘The owls won’t see us here’ is when the band finally let rip and the guitars burst from their previously muted position in the mix to the forefront of the song with a power and vitality that proves wholly unexpected  and has all the more impact for that. ‘Every passing hour’ is the album’s shortest track, at just shy of four minutes and it is almost unbearably poignant with a single violin playing a mournful tune over picked guitar and the track serves more as a prelude to the lengthy ‘the ocean between you and me’ than as a track in its own right. The final track rounds out the album with guitars that trip over one another while the electronic back drop returns keeps everything slowly moving forward towards the end.

Kontakte’s stated aim was to make one hour of continuous music and in that they have succeeded. The music is often sublime with moments of extreme beauty and deep sadness intermingling to make the perfect soundtrack to the fading light of Autumn. However, as with much music of this type there is also a feeling that ideas are sometimes stretched and while Kontakte avoid that pitfall more than most there will be as many listeners out there put off by the lengthy meandering nature of the tracks as there are those who fall in love with the music’s simple, elegant sincerity. For my part, ‘we move through negative spaces’ is a splendid album which I will be happy to listen to again and again until I have absorbed every nuance but for those wishing for something more immediate then this is the wrong disc for them. Overall Kontakte have crafted a beautiful, wistful album that needs to be absorbed as a whole and the stunning beauty outweighs the moments when tracks appear to stretch beyond their abilities by some way. I’m glad indeed to have been given the chance to hear this epic work.

original review

When I first saw London post rock outfit Kontakte, named after the famous composition by pioneering modern composer Karlheinz Stockhausen, they were performing their first album Soundtracks to Lost Road Movies in the atmospheric setting of a renovated medieval church, backed by projections of abstract images. Even then, having only recently formed out of bassist Ian Griffith’s bedroom project, they were astonishingly cinematic, creating complex and textured soundscapes shrouding distant melodies in feedback and static. Seeing them perform live, jamming with electric guitars against a backdrop of glitchy beats, was astonishing, like being carried away by a wave of energy. With their forthcoming album We Move Through Negative Spaces, they’ve honed and polished that sound to such a staggering level that they can truly be considered alongside such atmospheric post rock giants as Mogwai and Godspeed You Black Emperor, whilst also carving their own unique space within the genre.  

The band’s emotional palette has deepened considerably, something aptly demonstrated by the album’s second track, Hope…, which carries an epic atmospheric charge that explodes in its second half into a souring crescendo of sculpted sound, and then dips again to introduce some subtle melodics and whispering voices. Another track, Glowing Hearts, peels back the static to showcase some truly heartfelt and beautiful guitar work, against a shimmering background drone and crystalline beats. Although the tracks are still shot through with the same energy as before, there’s more variety and subtlety this time around. 

The quality of the production on the album combined with the band’s innovative use of glitchy, layered beats is reminiscent of The Last Resort by Denmark’s techno maestro Trentmoller. However the addition of a back bone of discursive guitars and, in some tracks such as the incredibly evocative Early Evening Bleeds into Night, violin, xylophone and piano, demonstrates the truth behind the band’s assertion that they trace their sound back to classical music traditions as much as electronic. Whilst the production quality is almost on par with Trentmoller, his almost clinical precision is replaced here by a very human quality; an emotional core that is uniquely their own.

original review

Double ethereal negative

Kontakte – We move through negative spaces

Post rock is a tricky genre to tackle and it sometimes can be a tag that can be detrimental to a band. I really don’t know any more what “post rock” means (although I like the definition by Joe Shrewsbury from 65daysofstatic), so let’s say Kontakte makes expansive instrumental music, filled with electronica touches and a great wall of sound approach.

This is their second album, called We move through negative spaces. The sound of an old record spinning welcomes you, crackles and all. ‘Astralagus’, heavy on the electronic glitches, is a quite good choice for an opening track. A leisure pace, a lot of reverb (and chorus, probably) and that building arpeggio make it very pleasing to the ear.

‘Hope’ continues the record spinning scratch for a few moments, goes for a quiet approach and rides the wall of sound approach. Thick, expanding all over the earphones (wear good ones for this one) and slowly rising in tempo, reaching not quite drum & bass rhythms, but giving it a good chase for its money. Hard to convey the feeling of “hope” in a wordless song, but this one pulls it just right.

There’s something about how most songs by Kontakte seem to be made up with “movements”. You’ve synth and electronic drums bits here and there, then heavy feedback and arpeggios complementing each other (like in ‘With glowing hearts’). It’s probably their signature sound, but it’s not formulaic, there are real variations here.

I pretty much enjoy songs that don’t shy away from experimenting with real calm sounds and layering over some really loud stuff. ‘Early evening bleeds into night’ is piano-heavy, but the distorted guitars going for saturation are just perfect and the lonely violin by the end is poignant.

By this point, at the exact half of the album, the mood seems to be quite reflective, like a spot of self-assessment about what you’ve done and what you want to change in your life. Or maybe that’s just some self-projection. Anyways, ‘A snow flake in her hand’ got me in that mood, with the lovely guitar work and the string section (heart melting).  Title’s quality too.

Still, life moves on, right? ‘The owls won’t see us here’ is a haymaker, leading you into a false sense of security but then going for a punchy electronic beat (paired with more great guitar work – love the feedback in the middle). ‘Every passing hour’ is pretty dark, the sound sample of children playing with that eerie synth line is chilling and it’s the perfect segue, the beautiful ‘The ocean between you and me’. I have personal reasons to be partial to a song with this title, so suffice to say: it conveys the feelings of longing for someone who is pretty far from you, not only in a physical/geographical sense. Love the “explosion” bit where the guitar soars away while the electronic beat keeps everyone grounded. It’s like flying kites in a sunny day.

We move through negative spaces is quite an excellent offering by Kontakte. The stakes of mixing instrumental rock with electronica have been raised from their previous album (the also recommendable Soundtracks to lost road movies) and these 8 songs are a prime cut for lovers of instrumental rock.

—Sam

http://sloucher.org/2011/03/15/double-ethereal-negative/

“Kontakte”: sounds like a German techno musical, in actual fact a four-piece from London playing post-rock. With their mix of Bavarian heritage and dour British attitude, they might also be descendants of the current royal family. But Kontakte pack a secret weapon in the fact that one of them’s a would-be Brian Eno: along with the usual post-rock components (chiming guitar, loud guitar, pauses, drumming) lies a bank of cutting edge electronics—electronics that could probably go on by themselves to have a successful 36-year solo career. And if the golden rule of experimental music is IDM + post-rock = new heights of preposterousness, Kontakte pack a backup secret weapon in the fact that they hold an actual tune, and play material you can remember without having to cocoon yourself in your bedroom, light candles and wade through a mammoth drone build-up first.

Following the example set on 2009’s Soundtrack to Lost Road Movies, sophomore LP We Move Through Negative Spaces is an equally melodic collection, and not—as you might expect—a concept album written by neutrinos. Already turning heads among the more accommodating post-rock blogs, WMTNS is marked by a string of potential singles (well, if not actual singles, then certainly a pile of standalone tracks that could be dubbed over epic scenes in war films). “The Owls Won’t See Us In Here” is one such example, presumably written for a future film in which a Special Forces patrol gets stalked by hooting birds of prey. That said, given the repetition and melancholy that Kontakte weave their material from, it’s also just as likely to be about someone who’s been dumped and is now walking around a ring road. We’re first treated to the kind of melodic hiccuping that helped bounce Frog Pocket down from the mountains, but then individual guitars start chiming, and you can picture each member of Kontake composing while walking home from a night club, alone. But that doesn’t last long, luckily, and after a blast suddenly there’s that emotion the track was aiming for, arriving just before the piano to distract you from the inevitable repeat of the first half (which doesn’t happen). At seven minutes, “Owls” might be a stretch, but it more than pays off with surprises in the end. And anyway, it wouldn’t be post-rock if it didn’t force you to be just a little bit patient to enjoy it.

link to source

This reminds me a little (or possibly a great deal, simultaneously) of Maps, early Mogwai, EITS, 65daysofstatic & Epic 45. Their last effort was a motorik Krauty affair but this is all proper “epic guitar cathedral walls”, whispering, fluttery electronics & galloping, stomping, clattering drum machines with stately arpegiated guitar lines. There’s even some strings and piano in here someplace. It’s certainly not a case of re-inventing the wheel for this troupe of tender dreamers but for the air-punching instrumental post-rock brigade, there’s absolute lashings of heavenly, blissful chord changes & emotive crescendos to be consumed, especially on the monstrous ‘Hope’! Other tracks feature a familiar style of sensitive drum programming that recalls the tentative, stuttering explorations of the Millennium-straddling German/Scandinavian set but those bold, proud star-chasing guitars are firmly aimed at the skies, the sort of guitars that you – fantasy post-rock bro/sis – will totally fall in love with!!

read it here