Album review - The Swedish Railway Orchestra 'Repetition Without Permission'
Repetition Without Permission is the last album from Rob Smith's electronic project The Swedish Railway Orchestra. Are they going out on a high? Jonah Hoy reviews.
When the world feels so grey, a bleakness can come over what we see in the rainy, overcast clouds above us. Within them lies a thick and heavy mould keeping things together. If that thick ball of wet despair were to fall to the ground and splat, like viscera on an operating table, it might carve a smiley face of entrails, leaving a cheeky jab at the heaviness we all seem to feel these days.
That thick ball of heavy irony is The Swedish Railway Orchestra's final album, Repetition Without Permission. It purveys smooth, jazzy grooves like the sounds of Handsome Boy Modeling School and Portishead. The futuristic trip hop layered with psychedelic beats feels like the album could be a part of a soundtrack for an anime about a dystopian future made in the late 90s.
The first track XXXX, comes out twinkling with textures that make it quite danceable. XXXX, and the whole album, feels like a rain storm but with its lyrics, “life is so good, I can taste it in my spit” it pulls you into a world of ironic ribbing (and 2004 gangster movie Layer Cake - Ed). Not everything on the album is tongue-in-cheek; Mike Garry, a highly acclaimed Mancunian poet, weaves his spoken word in the single, Dead Man`s Ghost. Mike spits prose about the awful times, misinformation and greedy politicians all wrapped in a story about a boy on the floor who has fallen (cop speak for been forced - Ed) flat on his face.
It grooves in an ominous space because this final project for TSRO feels like one of their most well rounded projects, even their best work. Irony is layered all throughout but it doesn't have the dead cynicism that usually follows. Nor does it just try to be shocking because they're so drenched in irony that they can't see where one bit ends and they begin. It's impish and fun, even though it points out the serious fires plaguing everyone all over. A good example being the track, My Way: “You're dirty like a bag of carrots,” on repeat over and over shouting at you while the shimmering electronica takes you on a groovy headbang.
The album's textures and melancholy shimmer surround an upbeat, dancy set of tracks that will have you moving yet also make you stop and think about its pretty twinkles.
This menacing slab of electronica leaves you puzzled because it's abrupt, trippy and fills a weird little space where it can't be pinned down. It has a textured atmosphere over trip hop beats but feels like a warning. Each lyric seems a little impertinent, with the exception of Dead Man's Ghost which is sincere in its intention and its prose. Other tracks' lyrics are layered with mundane phrases sung seemingly sarcastically (Mark E Smith anyone? - Ed), leaving a slightly puzzling taste in your mouth.
One of the best tracks on Repetition Without Permission is Paradeloia: it's where those textures come together and make a psychedelic soundscape that feels like you're moving through time in muggy weather.
Through the mischievous lines, ambiguous symbolism and spoken word, there's a soulful angelic female voice in What You Want to Give Me. It feels like a slowed down version of a Jimi Hendrix solo but in between his pinch harmonics a sweet lady serenades us with lovely troubles of someone she used to know.
The album's textures and melancholy shimmer surround an upbeat, dancy set of tracks that will have you moving yet also make you stop and think about its pretty twinkles. Those twinkles and textures all form around cheeky and sincere lyrics about the world in which we live and the hard times we face. Ironic sincerity, an oxymoron? Maybe, but it fits and plays so smooth, that the thick, wet ball we all see goes down like velvet whiskey which you can check out on Oct 1st.
Order your copy of the record here:
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