Album artwork can often say a lot about a record. Whether carefully chosen or haphazardly assembled, a record cover can affect our approach to an artists' music before we even hear a note. In the case of Malacoda, who have re-released the 11 year-old Datura on the armsvslegs imprint, their record cover's extraterrestrial shapes and song titles pulled from primordial goo are entirely appropriate. Datura's sound is of creatures channeling mangled beats, screeching noise and disconnected samples from a far-off world into your ears. It is the sound of three-fingered martians thumping on keyboard notes and awkwardly turning knobs. But for a record so otherworldly, Datura has a little something for all earth-bound creatures. Those in search of monstrous beats and noise bursts or nostalgic for old-school samples stabs, such as those found on some of Public Enemy's best work, will find at least part of what they are looking for here.
Datura is full of references, sound sources and influences simultaneously at war with themselves and also strangely settled. Most listeners probably won't be sure what to think. It could go either way, like a swirly, soothing Matisse canvas or a bashed-up Guernica courtesy of Picasso.
For a record that sounds as though it could break apart at any moment (this is mostly a good thing), it does have its drawbacks. At times, Datura is a bit too self-consciously goth/scary to be taken seriously. "Miasma," for example, sounds like a techno Marilyn Manson backing track in places. The combination of noise, feedback and loud beats also looses its impact about mid-record. Some songs are more straight-forward than others, but Malacoda are most successful when trying to push the boundaries. Like many records of this ilk, Datura has its place, and would play a lot better in either a lively setting or a dark closet, but perhaps not so well in your earphones on the bus ride to work. Nevertheless, Malacoda have created a record with the ability to mutate, ooze and reform.
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