Yol - Cordless Drill Faces Separation Anxiety
Self released CDR.
Cordless Drill Faces Separation Anxiety finds Yol in a far more serene state of mind. Yes, I know, where’s the abused mop bucket and the spittle flecked tourettes utterances, the scraped along the floor dustbins, the clatter of sheet metal and feral barks? They’re still here, don’t worry, but in shorter quantities and, gulp, in a more refined manner. it feels that within the span of but a handful of releases our man on the east coast has already matured from all out one man whirlwind of manic energy into something far more subtle.
Take ‘Rain Gutter’. An echoey empty space where the sound of passing vehicles and distant chatter play foil to a series of uncoordinated knocks and our man gurgling, as if in some twisted way, to his own offspring. A lullaby of sorts but one as administered by an Incubus slobbering over the trapped frame of some innocent cherub. Its the incongruity that appeals.
Previous Yol outings have had the same effect as sonic grime dislodgment machinery. Pointed in the right direction they were capable of dislodging plaque, flaky brickwork or precariously balanced ornaments. With his trusty mop bucket and a vocabulary made from short syllables and grunts the effect was enough to make this listener make involuntary backward head movements, the chin slowly dipping towards the chest, eyes opening wide in genuine shock and then the faintest of smiles.
Here we have seven shorter tracks that have the feeling of being, well, thought out. How else to explain ‘ilver’ and its slave boat rhythm beat, soon to be joined by squeaky metal, the clanging of bright steel and Yol rubbing a bastard file over his mop bucket. And only then do the vocals come in, the word ‘ilver’ expanding until it becomes ‘silver foiiiiiiiiiugggghhhhhl’ and then ‘no trolls under bridge’ in clipped tones by way of amusement.
‘what is’ is one of those tracks that I presume Yol records in his own space. Here the delivery is more frantic and more representative of his recent past - a constant blur of stream of consciousness against dragged and scraped metal.
‘eco’ even has a squeeze box on it. Two of three wheezy chords against which Yol utters nonsense words. A sea shanty. A dying mans lament.
‘short horses’ is contact mics in the mop bucket noise, plus various small bits of metal getting chucked about as light percussion. Yol: ‘two crashed cars over two days’ [repeat a few times quickly] followed by horrible noise and then ‘short horses’ in a breathless manner before retching sounds and squealing feedback.
‘thumbed’ sounds like it has one of those African thumb pianos on it.
‘forked tongue’ is squeaky bike seat time with an asphyxiated Yol slowly passing out on the floor.
The man has energy in spades and his recordings show it. His delivery is infectious and the way he’s matured over these seven tracks is remarkable.
Cordless Drill Faces Separation Anxiety shows that Yol isn’t just a one trick pony with a mop bucket and a contact mic. I doubt a concept album will ever appear but in the meantime long may he utter.