Glasgow duo Jonnie Wilkes and James Savage take their Naum Gabo project into new territory with a vital LP of industrial and abstract sound

The short story often gets erroneously categorised as mere training for would-be novelists, but it is of course a valid artform in its own right (look at Raymond Carver). Likewise, the humble 12” when compared to the album. Until now, Naum Gabo (half of Optimo Espacio Jonnie Wilkes and mastering engineer extraordinaire James Savage) have mostly been operating in a world of 12”s and the format has perfectly suited their low end theories and abstract techno excursions (the Kompakt label made particularly fine use of their talents for a number of sides in their Speicher series). Optimo Music’s digital-only Naum Gabo compilation from a few years ago, Ana One shows the duo’s range and depth, but surprisingly F. Lux is their first album proper. 

It wasn’t that they were necessarily building up to this (more 12”s would have been as welcome as anything), but it appears that the time was right for a Naum Gabo full length. Make no mistake, they have made thrilling use of the format. F. Lux is a world of sound you will sink into willingly, even as its tendrils pull you further down. It’s dark and heavy, pleasantly discomforting. Imagine stepping through the wardrobe only to find the corridors of the Solaris space station rather than a winter’s wood. This is no cosy stroll.

Experiencing opener “Aora” and its spectral companion “Tols” is much like studying the derelict buildings and decayed machines of David Lynch’s The Factory Photographs. The industrial urge of “Schinokapsala” then shoves the listener into submission, with drums in the deep and distorted cries from the mountains of madness. Think Nine Inch Nails circa-Pretty Hate Machine given a soundsystem makeover by Sabres of Paradise. Elsewhere, the behind-the-veil mechanisation of “Haerstag” suggests the opening and closing of portals – who knows to where – cut from similarly abstracted cloth as “Ghost Bitch” by Sonic Youth. Whereas “This 1” is nothing less than a transmission from the haunted dancefloor. It’s a signal to noise that you’ll do well to pay attention to.

Naum Gabo Bandcamp

Stewart Gardiner
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