Graveyard Tapes ~ Our Sound Is Our Wound

As a review site that leans toward the instrumental side, we don’t receive many albums that are about heartbreak; without making a complete site-wide survey it’s impossible to say for sure, but it certainly feels like we’ve covered more albums that were inspired by rivers than were composed in the despondent haze of 3am heartache. This is one of the exceptions to the rule, and it’s an album with singing on it to boot. Welcome then, to the mournful, contemplative world of Graveyard Tapes, the Edinburgh-based duo bringing together the talents of Euan McMeeken and Matthew Collings, who has in the past collaborated with Talvihorros and Dag Rosenqvist. McMeeken provides the sparse piano and vocals – sometimes plaintive, occasionally menacing – whilst Collings provides the grit and glitch underneath.

The combination of despairing vocals and imaginative production works remarkably well, particularly on a track like “Insomniac Dawn”, where McMeeken’s bleary, introspective voice – wracked from too little sleep and too much whiskey – collides with Collings’ busy percussion. It sounds like Collings has been up all night too but in contrast has been out and is still hyper from several hours clubbing and is frantically trying to get his double-time handclaps committed to tape, no matter if they’re slightly sloppy. These touches give the music a distinct humanity, rather than being the crisp rhythms of a programmed machine and this style complements McMeeken and gives him plenty of room, rather than cramping him with digital precision.

Lots of duos have blended the emotive voice with the clinical machine, but although much of the music here has been generated through a laptop, Graveyard Tapes try to keep the music as loose and non-regimented as possible. So “Bloodbridge” is a slowed-down piano ballad, the gaps between the notes threatening to collapse upon themselves whilst “Gravebat” is the darker brooding companion, with chattering blips and moody clarinets. It’s the little details on these tracks that cumulatively build into big statements, and Our Sound Is Our Wound documents the duo’s insular world, occupying its own space and using its own musical language.

Perhaps it’s the Scottish connection but I found Graveyard Tapes similar to The Blue Nile; not necessarily in the sound itself (the Glaswegian trio went for more polish on their records) but the early morning sense of loss set amongst the stonework of a bustling city; in addition, McMeeken is able to communicate a great deal in relatively few words; the verses are often haiku-esque but communicate a lot (‘And when the love drifts away / The memorials / Remain’). Musically there are hints of some of Thom Yorke’s work too, in the lively rhythms, careful piano and busy handclaps. Lost Tribe Sound are understandably excited about this record, with particularly luxurious concertina books accompanying the disc; and there’s plenty of justification for their enthusiasm. Our Sound Is Our Wound is, in every sense of the word, quality. (Jeremy Bye)

Available here