The saxophone sounds stranded; like a beautiful rose growing up through a crack in the concrete, emitting the sort of syrupy tones that usually nestle amidst the soft keyboards and vocal tones of a soul ballad. Here, it’s sandwiched between mistreated guitar and vacant electronics. Bachorze don’t care. In fact, the album thrives as much off disagreement as it does atmospheric alignment. For every moment of cacophonous unison, there’s another of hapless mismatch: sandpaper electronics gnawing at flowers of strummed melody, lost radio frequencies spilling over free jazz. Okoły gnębione wiatrem is about forcing sounds to co-exist in spite of their differences, observing the consequences – sometimes pleasant, sometimes dismal – of such ruthless intimacy.
Each of these tracks is a deliberate dead end, regardless of whether the instruments co-operate or not. Objects squirm and squeak, woodwind sings claustrophobic whimpers, synthesisers rattle until their screws start to come loose. Any interaction between the three is cyclical and counter-productive; no attempt is made to push the collaboration to more musically coherent places. Instead, I’m made to observe a set of discursive, lo-fi stalemates, where sounds rub against eachother without generating any heat or mutual understanding. It’s beautiful. Bachorze push themselves out into the oceans of experimentation without a destination in mind, bobbing upon the waves until land slips below the horizon, gradually forgetting why they ever set off on their adventure in the first place. A wonderful ode to lost purpose.