Review: Garaliya - Ventricle Replicant

This is techno for alien insects. Amidst the steady rhythmic pulses and guttural synths, I hear the skitter of little legs and the scrape of body segments; syncopations crawling over themselves; digital sounds scampering in from the sides and writhe up through the centre. I imagine tiny mouths chewing at the wires, sabotaging rhythmic circuitry and inciting spasms of electric shock. Yet somewhere beneath these fidgeting beats and electronics, the thump of 4/4 manages to persist, providing a steady anchorage of danceability and common sense. Even as Ventricle Replicant verges on dismantling itself, Garaliya dangles a thread of comprehension for me to clasp at.

It’s a bleak record. Bass frequencies meet the echo of an unlit space shuttle corridor, or an aircraft hangar sitting dormant at night. Cold concrete, angular metal. In the context of such a numb and hostile atmosphere, I wonder if all of those scurrying noises – the patter of feet, the rustle of broken glass, the garbled crunch of maggots eating – are the hallucinations of a brain on high-alert. Is my imagination toying with me? During “Serpenter”, the visions come in a thick and chaotic flood: the chirps of old computers, the exhalations of hydraulic mechanisms, the tumble of plastic objects, all smothering the central beat until I can barely hear it. It’s a snowballing of subconscious fears; darkness compacted into the shape of the perilous and the unfamiliar.