[engl] made by dylan mccartney at the attic in the village by the cemetery. with ancient tapes, several drums, two or three synthesizers, a bass guitar, shakers of a few sizes, a cowbell, a century old bugle, a broken melodica, two tambourines, the "thing", a harmonizer, a destroyed contact mic, barely functioning buzzing amplifiers, sounds of the 1401, two warped electric guitars, a hand drum from my late uncle Gordon, a computer on the brink of a fatal crash, consumer grade microphones, a truculent flanger, a few bottles of ouzo, a bevy of self-induced paranoid delusions, bridges between Cincinnati and Kentucky, the companionship of a frightful cosmic tale, the solitude of the forsaken spot, vivid and visceral nightmares, red lights, night rides and poisoned air.

[engl] It begins with a rustle of noise, equally reminiscent of distorted factory noise and a cassette recording of cathedral bells unspooling, before a near-robotic beat and stuttering bassline enter the fray. Initially, you could be forgiven for thinking you’ve stumbled across the lost tapes of Joy Division’s early Warsaw incarnation, but the atonal blast of strafing guitars fading in and out soon make you realise this is a very different proposition. This is The Drin, and ‘Engines Sing for the Pale Moon’ is their debut album. It’s also one of the best things you’ll hear all year. Helmed by Dylan McCartney, drummer of the rock band Vacation, The Drin originally released this album as a hyper-limited cassette via Future Shock. It’s as much of a departure from McCartney’s usual output as it is for Drunken Sailor Records; songs don’t so much explode out of the gate as drift towards you like a creeping fog that turns your skin inside-out and leaves you sloshing organs all across the carpet. Second track ‘Guillotine Blade’ shows the pieces all coming together, a dubbed-out riot of claustrophobic noise that feels like Pere Ubu trapped in a cupboard one minute, and ‘Warm Jets’-era Eno trying on Bauhaus’ trenchcoats the next. Meanwhile, ‘Down Her Cheek A Party Tear’ unfolds across jittering, skittering rustles of drums and an undulating bassline, making you wonder why post-millennial post-punk so often settles for dickheads shouting non-sequiturs over landfill indie, when it could be entering these dark, unsettling territories instead. The Drin like to get weird. The Drin like to get wild. The Drin rarely cut loose, but that’s because the trip is already intense and haunting enough without things getting raucous in here as well. Hey kids, turn off those [shite band name redacted] records and get into this; you deserve so much better, and better’s right here. Fall into it, immerse yourself and step forward into a brave new world.

[engl] Way out there. From up in the attic, in the village of Cincinnati - the third album from the Drin has arrived to commence 2023. Cold rhythms reverberate through the layers of tape spliced together by Dylan McCartney and his impressive cadre of musical companions. The Drin spawned from a debut cassette edition of 50 on the Future Shock label, since teaming up with both Drunken Sailor and Mangel to issue two LPs. Their loose, careening live unit features members of Corker, Crime of Passing, the Serfs and Fruit LoOops. 'Today My Friend You Drunk the Venom' is the Drin's finest hour as a creative entity. McCartney's incredible command of rhythm lies at the forefront of the mix, complimented by a group that is able to seamlessly transport between post-punk, acid guitar jangle, and krautish experimentalism. There's even a stellar dub track on here. As much as contemporary artists tend to flaunt their affinity for the past - it's entirely worthless to apply such trappings to the Drin. Their genre-expansive abilities and deep knack for rhythm and layering are something entirely new and futuristic. Ohio has never sounded so close to outer space.