Let’s take a look at the fourth album by Atsuko Chiba, the Montreal-based artist of the same name who immerses you to your very core in slow or mid-tempo beats and a heavy, humid atmosphere. The result of this offering is a sort of semi-shaded, twilight, hypnotic rock, where the structure of each song slowly takes shape, revealing its elements: the lead vocals, the backing vocals, the circumspect guitars, the melodic bass, the pedal effects, and the layers of synths. It’s not shoegaze, it’s not psych rock, it’s not space rock, it’s not ambient, it’s not ethereal wave, it’s not spoken-word poetry, it’s not rap, it’s not electro. It’s a bit of all that and yet not really. Singer Karim Lakhdar and his band have a knack for defying labels without stepping on the gas. Some compare this approach to that of Suuns or Mars Volta for the atmospheres they create, which are relatively similar… yet again, it’s not wise to make direct comparisons.
Atsuko Chiba has her own vision of art rock; we let ourselves be drawn in slowly and surely. Such offerings have dotted half a century of rock; this band may not be reinventing the wheel, but their sound remains perfectly distinct—the hallmark of singular artists in those details where the devil lies.
