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‘Mockery’ is the second release from the creative mindset of London based Little Shyning Man and provides for a welcome follow up to last years strangely beguiling mini album debut ‘Hart of the Wud’. Lttl Shyning Man occupies a multi generic netherworld where autumn and spring, dark and light, madness and insanity co-exist, a world where the stuff of fantasies and fables playfully occupy, a world whose garden gate and protective fencing guards all within, a world that’s seemingly lain undisturbed and unknown to the prying eyes of a selfish and intrusive outside society.
To enter the world of Littl Shyning Man is to disengage yourself of your preconceptions as to musical norms and embark on a curious surreal voyage where opposing genres collide and evaporate to form new strains some previously heard but long since forgotten others passing flirtations of a mercurial craftsmanship.
Little Shyning Man is better known to kith ‘n‘ kin as Christopher Haworth and ‘Mockery‘ is his strangely disarming world.
Minimalist, sedate, charming, puzzling, euphoric, disturbing, surreal and captivating are all descriptive words that in different degrees of relevance could be applied to this 10 track odyssey. What first appears as a cleverly crafted union of twitchingly affectionate folk montages sweetly tempered throughout by swirls of frosted electronics is in reality an ever evolving collection of sound collages that seem to shift in perspective and draw you deeper with each repeated listen. It would be easy to casually pass ‘Mockery’ off and file it alongside the likes of Tuung and Minotaur Shock and arguably it wouldn’t look out of place. But then when you stumble upon tracks such as the haunting and slightly (shall we say) fried art pop meets frazzled jazz intonations found on the opening sequence to ’Neath the Chewy Bridge’ it makes you rethink your stance whilst not forgetting provides evidence indeed of nights spent pouring over albums by Henry Cow and their latter day contemporaries the very wonderful but obviously mad as hatters Volcano the Bear.
‘Inchborough’ is a gloriously enchanting triptych that flickers and flirts sensually between rosy folds of nibbling rustics and succulent passages of wig flipping down tempo groove as though Wagon Christ had been locked in a room to collaborate with both Budd and Gray with an aim to reclaim the sullied heritage of the Bond theme. ‘Jambouree’ which opens the set begins with a snoozily worked entrée beset with delicately worked woody rustics that shyly hiccup to belie subtle stirrings of John Fahey chilling within its matrix, steadily building in stature to incorporate shuffling beats that push and prod restlessly it soon blossoms into a jubilant haze of welcoming whirring electronics with Goblin-esque overtures.
Elsewhere the lulling lunatic pop of ’Blood Lantern’ suggestively toys with the same spectral tenderness and cavernous spatial arrangements as more commonly associated with the likes of Yellow 6, Gnac and Manual Then there’s the strangely seductive church like glacially starry eyed pop of the achingly sparse ‘Song of Blak Deth’ with its loosely limbed classically conceived chamber like progressive jam a la Zombi.
Where ’Mockery’ works is that it leaves you constantly on a back foot trying to pointlessly second guess where it’s going next and for the most part being miserably way off mark. It’s strangely unsettling to think that you have the measure of a track only for it to shift unexpectedly into a totally unrelated and disconnected direction. If you really needed a definable reference point you’d have to dig out Tex La Homa’s amazing ’Dazzle me with Transience’ from a few years back to find a suitable equal in terms of textures, styles and moods deployed.
Both ‘Elephants Graveyard’ and the curtain closing ‘Man what grew up from Acorn’ (a very ‘Wicker Man’ like title - think FortDax remixing Carpenter with a throng of half cut impish heavenly spectres on hand to help out) provide the album with its keynote moments. The former melding acute jazz signatures with lysergic accents dipped in exotic textures braided by a cortege of pining salutations that ominous as they may appear sound like the handiwork of Ry Cooder - eerily beautiful.
Alarmingly perfect.
www.sonic360.com/littlshyningman
Key tracks -
Inchborough, Elephant Graveyard and Man who grew up from Acorn.
MARK BARTON
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