o friends – Art Schop (reviewed by Dave Franklin)

As Art Schop, Martin Walker never gives us anything as mundane as mere songs, or just another EP or albums that are just the sum of their parts. There is always something more profound to be had, something more interesting being said, something more marvellous and mercurial in the delivery.

And so it is with o friends, five musings on five different friendships, autobiographical takes on people who have impacted his life and what they have meant to him. And although at five tracks it might seem like an EP, at around 45 minutes, it is undoubtedly an album’s worth of material.

Designed as a symphony in five acts, these passages take the form of improvisations, layers of music – snake-like synths, coiled guitars, ticking beats, space and drift – all combining with the ebb and flow of the vocals to channel memories and thoughts from the most intimate part of Walker’s creativity.

It is as much the music that imparts the mood as the words themselves. As we all know, language has its limits, especially when we find ourselves lost in such nostalgic thought. At those times, the music takes over, conveying wordless sentiment and intimate, floating expression in a way that only music can.

Each is a fluid, changeable piece, “Billy” wandering from liquid sonics and understatement to raw guitar crescendos, from the Berlin-era Bowie-esque to more bombastic treatments. “Norm” feels fractured and fraught before settling into a more alt-pop-aware structure, and “Jimi” is dense and claustrophobic yet redemptive before heading into a searing, industrial-infused play-out.

The improvisational nature of the music, and intimacy of the lyrics, feels like a form of automatic writing, a channelling of thoughts and feelings and emotions and conflicts that are stored in a part of the brain that has kept them hidden until now and which can only be accessed through the exorcism of this sonic oujia board.

The result is a strange, hypnotic, and revealing set of songs-as-symphonies, ones that almost make you feel guilty, as if you were reading someone’s personal diary entries or letters they never sent.

Instagram
Website
Twitter
Spotify