Swathes of fuzzy synth are rudely punctured by a rigid kick and snare – a mechanised intrusion that harks back to “Machine Gun” from Portishead’s Third LP. A brief break, and the beat returns, but now features syncopated hits that herald the arrival of a staccato synth melody – “Eurocrotch” is suddenly rendered in much dancier colours than before. This opening track to City Plaintive, by the duo 6&8, is anomalous within the LP as a whole – an almost orthodox dance/electronica piece perhaps symbolic of pounding night club escapism, before the drunken stumble outside to the sobering night that commences with “Opening City Plaintive”.
In this second track, myriad sounds and textures of frenetic transport create a strangely calming atmosphere. Spacious and soothing piano chords strike a wistful tone, but with a dusting of jazz. This ambient soundscape then makes way for “Girl On Steps”, a superb slice of electronica too restrained to be dance music, but too pulsating to be anything else. The female voice that provides a well-spoken focal point – by turns descriptive and abstract – enters for the first time in this track, describing the titular girl, seated on cold steps. A high synth reinforces the frosty atmosphere, each note like an icicle shattering on the floor, while the low throb of dub-esque bass cavorts with a paper-tight snare, creating a simple but enrapturing pulse.
These first three tracks merit detailed description, not because they display all the styles on offer in City Plaintive, but because they represent the wide scope of the record and its emphasis on groove, ambience and experimental sampling. Visualise a bird’s eye view of London or Tokyo, for example, and a grey image of repetition doubtless enters your mind. But swoop down like a cinematic camera until individual streets, buildings, people can be perceived, and the oppidan uniformity dissolves. This record could be the soundtrack to that camera, as it weaves through crowds, swooping into the open windows of flats, night clubs, trains; glimpsing confrontation and intimacy; all united under the same city roof. The point is, the camera never lingers. In “Possible Interlude”, a Nellie Melba piece cuts through a maelstrom of fireworks, steel drums and footsteps. Suddenly, the textures adjust, but the opera remains, as though now being heard in a different setting. The final track, “Running”, carries this same jarring sense of scene changing.
As effective a device as this is, the tracks that eschew it for a less fragmented delivery are more compelling, such as ‘Girl On Steps’ and the suffocating, dank atmosphere of ‘Then Him Then Her’, which takes us into London’s underground. The skittish ‘Halo of the Moon’ is less successful – its electronic drone briefly replaced by warming guitar chords that beg in vain to be extended, and the swelling synth of “Running” loses momentum with its abrupt changes.
But such is life in the city: multifaceted and unpredictable. This beguiling record closes describing a cold hand being held out to a lost girl ‘running through the city’; rather than offering direction, however, he wants to know a price. This helpful stranger becomes a malevolent one, and the warmth he may have offered turns as cold as the gun in his hand. (Chris Redfearn)
a closer listen 