Dyr Faser emerge from a mist of deodorant haze with the twanging riffs of ‘Den Of Sables’ like a neurasthenic Stooges. Peaks of guitar chime in digital on-off patterns. It’s garage but spin washed and hung out to dry.
‘Estranged’ gurgles like a bad stomach condition; shoegaze but breaking into languid cowboy shimmers, as the song rumbles on it becomes more and more like a cow being ritually humiliated.
The morse code of ‘Don’t’ gives way to synths urging The Warriors to come out to play-ay over a disco beat. It’s vaguely motorik too, vaguely Iggy in Berlin.
‘Just A Face’ s dubby percussive beats and low-key guitar noodling gives the song an acid western feel.
‘Koso Biru’ offers the bounciest guitars of the album and spits out it’s meatiest groove. But this isn’t for dancing, just getting your head into the Tron space of all the rising guitar lines.
‘Hybrid Souls’ feverish drums hit against keyboard drones. It’s this mix and uppers and downers that make Dry Faser so difficult to pin down. They’re like a positive spin on that old quip about jazz music being a bunch of musicians playing unrelated tunes.
Insistence never sounded so lax and riffs never sounded so ambient. There’s a real shoegaze flavour but the songs don’t sound like more endless Ride rip-offery. Dyr Faser are more like The Chameleons on their second album, What Does Anything Mean, Basically? The songs wash over you, no matter how aggressive individual parts of the songs appear. This is what gives Dyr Faser their interesting duality.
There’s a real sense that these songs could come in any shape; they could have recorded and mixed these songs separately and the album would sound totally different. There’s a feeling that this is a snapshot of how the songs sounded on this particular day.
In all; Trio is where The Stooges and The Durutti Column meet.