Alexis Marshall - House Of Lull . House Of When

BLOODY KNUCKLES, BULGING VEINS, & A BELLOW FROM HELL

For privy followers, Alexis Marshall's 'Nature In Three Movements' was Dozens Of Donuts' SOTY in 2020. Not only that, Daughters' return You Won't Get What You Want sat atop the 2019 AOTY list too. Needless to say, expectations were high for House Of Lull . House Of When. That is, until the explosive, wrenching, apocalyptic fury of 'Nature' failed to appear on the tracklist. Like a gut punch from the Industrial demon himself, the sure-fire stunner's absence left an impressionable mark on what would become House Of Lull. Apart from 'Hounds In The Abyss,' nothing sounds quite like the innervated sinew of 'Nature,' as Marshall's decision to dig deeper than surface-level terror proved incompatible. Still. Without it, Marshall's world becomes even more grim, subjugating firepower with the internal stewing of leeching succubi. The combative aggression, while still undoubtedly present, feels isolated and bleak. As if, rather than screaming obscene symbolism to a bloodthirsty crowd of manic fans, Marshall's doing so to a brick wall. This is insanity in the age of quarantine.

Though Marshall's lyrics have always valued provocation over consideration, here they're borderline inscrutable. Poetry even, skirting the line between having a point and unsure of if you have one at all. The slow-burn opener of 'Drink From The Oceans' reflects this mightily, as Marshall uses his Spoken Word tremor for the majority of the song, repeating lines with incurring intensity before a barrage of ricocheting drums barrel towards the listener. "If you dangle your foot over the bed / If I reach out to your structure / If I lose your skeleton / If I am only waiting for the change / I am here" he pontificates, the meaning lost to a void of intestine dispute. After numerous listens intently following Marshall's lyrics, the only song - apart from 'Hounds In The Abyss,' which is infatuated with Marshall's manifestation of his anxieties and stressors - that grips some coherency is the deranged and hostile 'It Just Doesn't Feel Good Anymore.' In it, I'm assuming, Marshall assumes the role of the government during Covid-19, screaming through loudspeakers "Don't get up, don't go out / Don't touch anything, don't touch anyone," before hectoring compulsory compliance "You are expected to meet your obligations / You are responsible, stay where you are." It's riveting and perhaps House Of Lull's most difficult track to approach, with blustery saxophone bursts and strident percussion hits that, somehow, make a four-minute track feel like an hours-long torture test.

Which leads us to the production; suffocating and neglected. Industrial has never felt so woeful. This doesn't pertain to the megalithic moments like 'Hounds In The Abyss' or 'Open Mouth,' but rather those that sit barren and inconsolable. On numerous tracks, Musique Concrète becomes a tactile substructure, whether it be the rattling of chains, the distortion of blown-out speakers, or the clangor of pots and pans. 'No Truth In The Body' is the best example of this tactic, as, oddly enough, much like Eminem's 'Stan' where pencil meets paper, coins rattle and spin on the tabletop, envisaging a scene in which Marshall toys, idly by, as his mind reels. Again, it's not accessible in the slightest, punctuated by teetering piano keys and the drone of impending death. 'Youth As Religion' and 'Night Moving,' the two Spoken Word tracks, carry this drone to its inevitable demise. It is an imposing presence, one that looms like a weight on ones shoulders, regardless of the emotional volatility - or lack thereof - present in any moment.

Needless to say, House Of Lull is a challenging, stimulative album. One that heightens the senses when the darkest of nights become swallowed by shadow. For those not in the right headspace, Marshall's solo debut is legitimately-frightening art. I know, because I made the regretful decision of playing 'Nature In Three Movements' for my girlfriend whose sensitivity sometimes overwhelms her. House Of Lull would surely accomplish the same feat. However, in spite of the atmospheric woe and Marshall's ability to vividly summon it, the lack of any palatable enjoyment prevents greatness from surfacing. This is a brutal album meant for brutal days. You do not come here unless the rope has been tethered.