SHREYA BOSE
INDIE
REVIEWS
Songs from a Matchbox
(Raghav Meattle):
Jokes about Raghav
proving his “meattle”
can wait (Or, you can
hate me because I already
made it). First, we need
to wax eloquent about
an album that is part
soliloquy, all poetry.
Meattle wrote his songs from a Mumbai 1BHK (the
eponymous matchbox), and converted what could only
have started as musings into art-hedged windows to
multiple lives. The album is soaked in a sonic marinade
of mellow rumination and unperturbed eagerness.
Raghav centers his music around words. His attention
is on communication through lyrics, and he manages to
converge sentiment and amusement into dulcet delight.
“I’m Always Right” parodies the semi-despotic authority
accorded to guardians and societal supervisors. When congealed
Insignify (Rainburn): Concept
albums are among the most
satisfactory acts of creation
a musician can undertake.
Simultaneously, they are
astonishingly easy to infuse
with disingenuous prattle
and ornamental sound-
swathes substantiated with
little to no narrative.
It is best to approach concept
albums with scepticism.
Translating grand ideation
to palpable, perceivable
execution is akin to pulling
colour and skin out of thin air.
Rainburn did exactly that.
I try not to demand
absolute polish and profundity out of debuts, mainly
because the debut is, despite the members’ previous
tenure, the etching of a still immature history. A new
band starts out with storytelling that does not have the
liberty of being shaped by any perspective but theirs.
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into a 3 minute song, it emerges as ridiculous; ripe for satire.
“Bar Talk” frames with sprightly stringwork the loneliness
of performing before an indifferent audience. “Two Left
Feet” addresses the abstract, often obscure play for desire
and indignance. “Stood Up & Fried”outlines the predatory
patriarchy that threatens every breath every woman ever
takes.The platter widens to include intensity and detachment,
and Meattle emerges as a prophet of everyday exasperation.
Raghav writes and sings from a seemingly personal lens. It
could even be considered exclusionary if he wasn’t as dexterous
with his wordplay. But he possesses that supernatural
quality inherent in art that stays : feel utterly unique things
and weave them with such enchantment that the reader/
listener/viewer/lover’s joy feels akin to relevance.
Easily one of the most fascinating releases this year, this
album calls for purposeful listening. There is immense value
in listening to someone who offers wide-angle portraits
of tiredness and trauma via wit-leveled rhythm. Beer and
existential contemplation make for a good Friday, yes?
However, Insignify whispers, moans and often wails stories
that possess the subdued confidence of individual conviction. In
your mind’s eye, imagine four men sitting together, discussing
how they can replicate the vagaries and tragedies of split-sanity.
As the album progresses, it becomes evident that the speakers
residing in it suffer from a morbid, almost Gnostic despair.
Driven mad by the sludge of “emotional anagrams”,
songs like “Mirrors” and “Someone New” claw at
the strictures of large-world-apathy. Frontman Vats
Iyengar leads a dissonance-stricken choir to exalt a
reality that is best understood with a broken mind.
The album reaches towards achieving the resonance of a Samuel
Beckett-style nightmare. “Purpose”, for instance is a delirious
harmonic replica of fraught consciousness. Voices lash at each
other, seeking conquest in their expression of futility. “Suicide
Note” progresses with militaristic precision, and is easily the
most potent track for encouraging obsession with itself.
Rainburn’s eagerness to hold mirrors up to our drunk
and delirious soulscape is well worth reward. They play
with and question their own compositions, often using
masterful string-strokes to disrupt their own rhythmic
symmetry. How much do you want to bet that these
guys crouched around a screen some time recently,
watching Eraserhead and nodding in agreement to it?