32 albums into Crowhurst‘s discography, and L.A. noise maven Jay Gambit shows no signs of slowing down. For the new release, he’s joined by a wide host of like-minded musicians, including members of Dive Signals, Opacities, Yuggoth and Hashima.
After seeing the cover, most fans will know that they are not in for a bout of easy listening. Crowhurst has never made that sort of music. But as provocative as the cover image may be, it’s still misleading. Death Van is just as loud as the cover implies, but it’s much classier, more intelligent and yes, even beautiful. This strange contrast is evident right from the start, as the 15-minute opener “Enter the Death Van” cruises in on drone wheels, resting upon axles of chimes, topped by a chassis of clashing chords. The Death Van is majestic where one expects it to be malignant: more like the yearnings of dark angels than the slumming of child kidnappers. One imagines being roused from the evening news by the sound of a very unusual ice cream truck, and finding one’s self drawn to investigate out of sheer curiosity. Yet if any children were nearby, one might also pause to loud the double-barreled shotgun.
Unlike the double album No Life to Live (reviewed here last year), Death Van contains no soft spots. It’s thick to the center like congealed blood. The organ reverberates, the electronics surge and the guitars feed on each other like cannibalistic piranhas. Wave upon wave of excessive noise crashes upon the sonic shore. And yet, despite the fact that the sound levels begin and end in the red, the album possesses an even temper. It may be harsh, but not discordant; these drones come in sheets rather than in concrete blocks. In the end, the presence of such consistent noise turns out to be less repellant than violently soothing. For all its abrasive qualities, Death Van turns out to have a real heart, not one ripped from the rib cage and dripping with blood but fully alive and caring. The irony is that many people will never get close enough to find out. The closing track, a Death in June cover, completes the inside joke; like Crowhurst, that band was always more lovely than its public persona implied. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 