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TIt’s his first album in 13 years Canadian boardsand from the opening credits – an analog synthesizer rising and falling like the noise in a forgotten 1960s radio show – you’re thrust into another instantly recognizable world in electronic music.
From the first EP Twoism in 1995 onwards, through four LPs and four more EPs, the Scottish duo – brothers Mike Sandison and Marcus Eoin – used heavy hip-hop vibes to cross the visual spectrum, like astronauts sent through a time portal still built today. Taking samples from old television and other historical sources, he looked back to the promise of the mid-1900s, while teasing the hidden and dangerous device of these words.
Their music influenced everything from US cloud-rap to the “hauntological” music of UK Ghost Box; you won’t be surprised to find BOC albums on the shelves of filmmakers such as historical figure Adam Curtis or folk horror fiend Ben Wheatley. But in Inferno, the BOC owners feel stuck in the past, caught up in the crowd of the electronic age.
The title depicts Dante’s hell, and the two seem to be thinking about spiritual salvation and destruction, even if sometimes recklessly. On Father and Son, the voices of people with faith problems are humorously transformed into a fun song, reminiscent of the Avalanches’ Frontier Psychiatrist. Perhaps Richard Dawkins would enjoy it; others will find it very funny. Words Become Flesh uses the example of an old educational video about the development of a human embryo, again dissected, this time into a flesh-producing electrode. Maybe it’s a real celebration of body transformation, but it feels like another jibe – not to mention the example being a total BOC cliche. In this context, the appearance of Hare Krishna singing on the obnoxious Naraka makes it seem like he’s mocking Eastern religion – either or he’s just using Eastern laziness (which is later resurfaced with Deep Time’s sitar twang). A better critique of religion comes on All Reasons Gone, with the story of a Christian patriot (“a new start continues… a great battle must be fought”) that is immersed in the whispers of demons.
At least BOC is making a point – the deepest problem with Inferno is how boring the actual music is. Surprisingly, the brothers expanded their brand, especially by adding guitars: the lead single Prophecy on 1420 MHz recalls their band Mogwai. Somewhere In The Future has a quieter sound, while Into the Magic Land sounds like Tortoise (although there is no Chicago band sound). There are changes to BOC’s central sounds, such as the satisfying lines of synthwave oil that run through the arrangements of Arena Americaada and Hydrogen Helium Lithium Leviathan. But beaten on those paths, along with many others here, are miserable pedestrians, trudging along awkward, unpleasant steps. Nadir is You Retreat in Time and Space, which sounds like save music for a broadband provider.
BOC was always good when it used trip-hop beats, as on Kid for Today, or a different musical approach, as on the proto-dubstep track Amo Bishop Roden (both from the superb, even visionary 2000 EP In a Beautiful Place Out in the World). And of course, the best music on Inferno is crap. Age of Capricorn puts a priest’s sermon in front of a stained glass window with Coldplay-scale vocals and music. The track features a strange sound from a female AI-like voice against water cannons and crowd noise, and the 78-second compilation of Acts of Magic is an eerie sound of noise coming from the mouth of a hellhole, filled with flying flies.
With over 70 minutes of music, these classics are timeless. Inferno is another iconic BOC song and true believers will bow to the duo’s ability to recreate their evil signature anew. Some of us may see them as we would a cult leader: interesting, even charismatic people with many questionable qualities.
