Over the course of their previous seven albums (or five, if the concurrently released first three count as one, or four if you somewhat pettily classify the live DVD elsewhere) Supersilent have developed their own language from what appeared initially to be the most abstract of Scandinavian typography.  In between releases, the four members’ extra-curricular travels meant that with each release they brought new-found grammatical rules and logics back to this otherwise hermetically sealed world – in fact their by the time of their last release they had even managed to incorporate huge amounts of rhythm, even if it was a rhythm unlike anything I’ve heard before.  Given the nature of some of their recent work away from the collective (in particular Arve Henriksen’s solo releases and some of Helge Sten’s production work on the likes of Susanna’s recent album), the dichotomic nature of 8 could perhaps have been predicted.  If anything the wholly-improvisational Supersilent did could ever be accused for being predictable, that is.

There is little on this planet as thrilling as hearing (or better still, seeing and hearing) the recombination of the four respective parts of Supersilent, and the beautifully produced 8 doesn’t disappoint in this regard.  It begins with the sound of the four well-worn cogs meshing together, teeth missing, snatching at and grinding against each other, with the sparks of Sten’s guitar illuminating the dark, and giving sight of some ominous-looking shapes ahead – it takes a while to get there though.  After the Stale Storlokken-dominated 8.2, 8.3 reprises the falling-down-stairs drum rhythm showcased so heavily on 7.  The next two are surprisingly melodic; 8.4 wanders through the icy landscapes and cold breathiness of Henriksen’s excellent Strjon, before – after a terrifying dalek-voiced intro – the beautiful 8.5 flows glacially, with Sten playing some fuzz-guitar chords over delicate keyboard, cymbals and trumpet.  The mood continues with the burbling meltdown of 8.6, shades of Aphex/Autechre lightened by Henriksen’s vocals soaring above.  However those earlier flecks of guitar should have been a warning; as if offended by this slide towards conventionality, Sten burns some incendiary metal into the album on the facepunching 8.7 as the rest of the band jerk and moan around him, after that the fading sounds of 8.8 are mere death throes.

Edging towards the middle ground at such a rate and from such a distance, expect Supersilent to discover the three chord thrash somewhere by Supersilent 108.  For anyone not yet versed in their language, 8 is a good point to start learning some of their most irregular verbs and imperfect tenses.  Lessons are available from Rune Grammofon.

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