In modern music-writer parlance, musicians no longer release albums. They “drop” them. But in the case of Lord Gloom's debut, that happens to be true.
The story goes that Lord Gloom (real name unknown) was undertaking one of his frequent coastal cliff walks, when he inadvertently dropped a USB stick that happened to contain an album's worth of sequenced material, complete with artwork.
Though it's unclear as to where exactly on the British coast this took place, Lord Gloom must live in one of those coastal towns that hasn't changed much since 1972, for his USB stick was mistakenly identified as a bomb by a fellow hill-walker. The authorities were notified, but only the local constabulary were able to make it to the scene. This is fortunate for anyone interested in hearing this album. A “real” bomb-disposal unit would likely have destroyed the suspected device. Instead, a junior member of the constabulary volunteered to take the USB stick home “to have a closer look.”
When he got home, his wife immediately recognised “the device” for what it really was, so they decided to take a look at its contents. And the rest, as they say, is boring. Regardless of how we got here, here we are, with the first ever “official” Lord Gloom release. Not counting, of course, the countless albums he's already donated to his local parish's various outreach projects. This is the first opportunity the wider world has been given to hear the often nauseating work of Lord Gloom, and I can't wait to see what happens next.
Though his thoughts on this particular collection of music are unknown, in the wake of dropping this album, Lord Gloom apparently gave his consent for its wider release. There will be those who'll speculate that the “accidental” dropping of Grizwald? was no accident, that he'd always intended for this music to be heard. But that's just conjecture, and should not get in the way of anybody's enjoyment or intolerance of this album.
Grizwald? opens with a simple four note melody over which somebody, perhaps Lord Gloom himself, performs a muttered rendition of Shakin' Stevens's “Merry Christmas Everyone”. What follows is a moody 40 minutes of sludgy orchestration, local history, time travel, growling clowns, corn bins, backward bouzoukis, old Latin rhythms and an inexplicable hate figure called Bob God.
Most interesting of all, four tracks feature spoken renditions of strange short stories from that master of baffling macabre microfiction, Nevervane. Those who have always wanted to put a voice to the words will be pleased to find that it fills the ears like refined battenberg soaked in boozy tea.
Some might find Grizwald? to be boring, half-baked, derivative dark-ambient nonsense. Those people would do well to remember that Lord Gloom perhaps never intended for these sounds to be heard. His subsequent approval for their release may have been begrudging. It's certainly too much to ask that critics might give Lord Gloom the benefit of the doubt, but you never know. Some might find here a pleasing midpoint between vaporware detachment and Hauntological dread.
Apart from anything else, intentional or not, Lord Gloom couldn't have “dropped” his album at a better time. It's the season of the witch, after all.
Download Lord Gloom's Grizwald? here.
