|“Vuurwerk is music made by a couple of kids.” At least that’s what their mysterious (borderline nonsensical) submission Email tells me. In fact, that’s pretty much all it tells me. Through a little bit of internet sleuthing, I determined that “Vuurwerk” is actually a Flemish word for “Fireworks” and that the musical project is actually by the hand of a Belgian producer. Now I’m more confused than I was before.|
ME is a four song platter of electro-noise-crafting, taking liberal audio cues from all the sonic elements in the periphery, from big British electrobeat, Bristol trip-hop, chillwave and cybernetic indie popping. “Windows,” (a live track) echoes and warbles like the soul of a worn out machine, a broken window and a few forlorn ghosts hovering in its place. Guided by the metronomic beating of a mechanical heart and overdubbed atop warm keys, it’s a song tailor (machine) made for doc-montage sequences and skate vids.
“Bad Habits” recoils, aggravates and compresses in and around its own frosty exterior robo-geese bleating and interspersed with the occasional strains of Beth Gibbon sighing into an oscillating fan. Think the swelling big beats of the Chemical Brothers, subtract the pomp and swagger (but keep the experimental chutzpah).
“Naomi” whistles and whines like a transistor radio submerged in Kool-Aid, the steady dripping of an iron faucet washing away its acerbic corrosion, leaving pleasantly blurred loops in its stead and “Discussion” works itself into a Kraftwerk-on-the-dancefloor frenzy, flickering beeps and twinkling melodies a-flutter and strangely jungle-esque rhythms percolating over top.
Post-apocalyptic soundscapes and turgid sci-fi nostalgia congeals in and around a flickering amalgamation of digital mechanica and computerization, but somehow manages to retain some sense of organic warmth. Machines aren’t completely divorced from humanity…somehow merged in with it…and it’s a compelling parade to cycle through your head endlessly.
Perhaps Vuurwerk really is a bunch of kids, precariously balanced on each other’s heads and hidden in a long trenchcoat (you’ve watched cartoons haven’t you?), tinkering around on a Moog synthesizer, Mario Paint and sampling their favorite animal sounds from nature documentaries. Whatever. I’m not one to question great music. - Tome To The Weather Machine