SELECTED MEMORIES FROM THE HAUNTED BALLROOM
Original Issue: 1999 V/Vm Test Records (OFFAL02) (Buy it here!)
Margot-meter: 4,5 moons / 5
The atmosphere created here is superb, taking old 78s and drowning them in mental distortion, going some way to what was going on inside Jack Nicholson's head in the film "The Shining" (inspiration for the project and one of Margot's favorite) - www.discogs.com
Here you can read an interesting article about Hauntology.
1 The Haunted Ballroom (3:44)
2 By The Seaside (4:00)
3 One Thousand Memories (1:25)
4 Haunting Me (3:48)
5 A Summer Romance (3:05)
6 Den Of Iniquity (2:45)
7 Dream Waltz (3:29)
8 A Handful Of Stars (3:34)
9 Request Dance (5:09)
10 In The Dark (3:02)
11 Reckless Night (3:02)
12 Thronged With Ghosts (3:48)
13 From Out Of Nowhere (3:45)
14 Friends Past Reunited (2:00)
15 You And The Night (3:12)
16 Moonlight Seranade (2:34)
17 Disillusioned (2:41)
18 The Revolving Bandstand (0:47)
19 Garden Of Weeds (3:06)
20 "Excuse Me" For Ladies (0:59)
21 In Days Of Old (2:14)
22 September 1939 (1:57)
23 Thanks (3:25)
24 The Haunted Ballroom (3:20)
25 Untitled (3:29)
Dusty and forgotten memories, echoes and vibrations from the past.
Using as source, recordings from the 1920's and 1930's era of Ballroom music.
Often painful and desolate memories, recalled and replayed from beyond the grave of our senses.
In amongst this darkness lies the solace of a semi-recognizable melody or phrase, a beacon of light in this often dark and distant ocean of haunted recalled audio.
The Caretaker has always been the more thoughful alter-ego of V/VM - the Stockport based butchers have been grinding up sound for quite some time now, and this full length was originally released way back in 1999.
A nice diversion from the demonic plugin-fuelled insanity of their more well known work, Caretaker instead goes for industrial ambience. Think Skinny Puppy’s more cinematic moments and you’ll be somewhere in the right area – what I love most about this album though is the kind of reverberating fairground mood.
Seaside organs hiss and hum in the background and give the record a persistent menace, a thick nostalgic groan which reminds me of Jeunet and Caro’s shiver inducing ‘Cite Des Enfants Perdus’ or maybe even more fittingly David Lynch’s ‘Eraserhead’.
Vinyl crackle rings out across the album as if it’s being played as an instrument and before long you’ll be certain you don’t live in the real world anymore. Utterly unique and really quite scary, in the best possible sense.