is a great album to listen to, but a terrible one to write about. Bucolic is an underground, pioneering electronic consortium who warp the fabric of music as a matter of course. If I try to describe it any more, though, language fails me. I can't use the words "bloop," "bleep," or "noodley" without sounding like a wank critic trying to be cool. Ditto for references about taking narcotics or, heaven forbid, floating in space. I could compare the keyboard noise on "Enver Again" to classic rave tinklings or point out that there is actually some bass wah-wah on the title track, but it just doesn't do Bucolic justice.So, instead of using my Rock Crit 101 buzzwords, I'll tell you what listening to Dyzan Blood
is like. Dig if you will a picture: It's Friday night, and it's been a rather long week. Work sucked (doesn't it always?), and rather than go out to another smoky club, you chill at home. Lights out, maybe just the flickering of a muted TV, you sit in the dark while Bucolic blows in your ear and whispers you towards relaxation. As the night--and the album--wear on, you also head for slumberland. Laying there in the half-state between alert and coma, you get vivid, dream-like visions. A slowed down seaside, waves breaking under a strobe light. Kaleidoscopic bursts of color. Birds with bright plumage. As you sink deeper, though, the music stabs farther down into your subconscious. The pictures get wicked. You're under the water, choking. The colors turn to slithering insects. The birds peck out your eyes. The sounds turn sinister, and their icy hands clutch your chest like an anxiety attack. You wake up, breathe. It's still noise from another dimension, but it gets warmer as the sun gets higher in the sky.
Does that make sense? No? Okay, fine. Bucolic makes electronic music that goes from awe-inspiring experimentation to the deepest, darkest dub. It's weird, chill-out, club music for those who want more than booty-bouncing techno. Happy?