Like the harsh rhythms of a blacksmith’s forge or the gnarly grind of an automated production line, Soft Collapse makes music out of the noise of the world but manages to turn it into something beguiling and, to my mind, beautiful.
Sitting between the starkness of industrial music and the claustrophobic qualities of grunge, the clever thing here, one of many, is that they fashion these shards and sharp-edged sonics into something hallucinogenic and otherworldly, describing a sort of fever-dream state between consciousness and torment. This is the music of that bewildering, dislocated waking moment.
As the opener to their new album, Black Halo, it packs a punch. Subsequent songs may have more space and greater dynamics, but this is your classic grab ‘em with a big hit right from the word go, initial salvo, a sonic first impression. A bass line so raw that you could use it to remove rust from iron girders joins with sparse yet thundering beats whilst a razor-wire lead line coils and cuts through, less a riff, more coiling, meandering and unpredictable, improvised even, though I’m sure plenty of thought has gone into it.
And for all “Sleepweight’s” grandeur and grit, there is a certain grace found here, for all its bombast, a certain beauty, but it is the same beauty you find in, say, a derelict building or the starkness of wilderness places, not welcoming but full of wonderment.
They say that beauty is where you find it, and this is beauty for those prepared to look far beyond the usual definitions and conventions.
