We hear a lot these days about existential dread.
Whether unfounded or not, the last few years have seen the western world indulge in a huge amount of self-reflection both driven and exacerbated by the twin effects of the conduct of those in charge and the all-consuming impact of social media. The general consensus is that things are changing for the worse.
As always the situation is more nuanced than that, and few understand this better than (Sandy) Alex G. Despite a having-his-cake-and-eating-it attitude towards his moniker (both stage name and real name included), he’s successfully tapped into that disenfranchisement and channelled it into glorious soundscapes.
When taking his first steps into music Alexander Giannascoli was one of thousands of ‘bedroom artists’ but soon began to differentiate himself from the crowded field, soon heralded as ‘the internet’s secret best songwriter’.
After self-releasing four albums Giannascoli signed first to Orchid Tapes and then to Domino, who are well known for allowing their artists free reign. Remarkably, given the amount of care that seems to have gone into House Of Sugar, it’s his ninth this decade.
Like all great albums it’s so fully immersive that it’s impossible not to be drawn into its world. Although at first there’s a false start – opening track Walk Away commencing with Giannascoli wailing like a banshee over a forceful acoustic strum – it breaks out to become an off-shoot of OK Computer, all shuffling guitars and backwards drums supported by mutterings that could easily be Thom Yorke. The mantra ‘walk away, not today’ is repeated over and over again, and the marching feel of the album informs us that we are about to enter a special world.
Some songs are mantra-heavy (i.e. lyrically simple), others have traditional structures, but it’s the sonic experimentalism, including the pitched shifted vocals, that is the star attraction here. It’s used to convey mood incredibly effectively.
The fiddles on Southern Sky accompany the piano and create an emotive atmosphere of plaintive regret, whereas Near is a percussion-led dreamy jam which generates the dichotomy of reassuring discomfort. Best of all is the instrumental Project 2, a filmic, electronic angst shuffle that wouldn’t sound out of place on Kid A.
With two comparisons made in this piece, you can see that Sandy is harnessing those masters of mood, Radiohead, rather than his usual influence Elliott Smith, though he’s still here in spirit by virtue of the attention to detail, albeit perversely drowned in foggy production. His lo-fi roots betray themselves on In My Arms which is all ragged chord progressions delivered at a much slower-pace, a more traditional ‘song’ than the slices of sonic psychedelia that surround it.
Thematically the album picks apart the conflicts at the centre of a person’s soul: the twin anxieties of being uncomfortable in one’s own skin whilst being curious about, and in fear of, how you may be perceived by others. It’s touched on lyrically but it’s really the album’s technique of adding alternating layers (one of warmth, one of disharmony) that demonstrate the nature of humanity, being both sugary sweet and sinisterly discomforting.
House Of Sugar is paced like a film, building softly and acoustically before liberally adding layers of effects and electronica (reaching its zenith on the regal Sugar) until it’s at a point where the clouds of fog are all-consuming. Only then are we allowed to draw a breath and reflect.
Once again, the ambiguity of Sandy (Alex G)’s world is gorgeously mesmerising.
