An unfurling of high density drones underneath a poetic, composite solenoid… That seems to be what ‘Dize’ is about, the follow-up by the Kleefstra Brothers and Anne Bakker of ‘Griis’ from 2014. Once a dialect in Frisian, soon comes another Frisian wheel of fortune, powered by hum in a echoing turbine that resonates in the memory like the ashes of a photograph.
The mood is a sombre airing, contemplative and cohering to low prosody rate, constantly evolving with speed as the catalyst for sound attenuation / differentiation. This characteristic repetition invites the listener to question their own initial set of responses to an always obscure language, framed in a bed that has equally archaic origins.
While ‘De Holle As Asem’ sets the album’s tone, which is alternately morbid (maybe macabre is the right word) in a Shakesperian Macbeth fashion, the lack of protagonist in this story throws up many questions. They are pseudo-scientifically employed as a afterthought stroke undercurrent. What do I refer? The instruments, and the voice. There is deathly cello that churns the gut powerfully, and a stepping-stone guitar fugue that creates a wonderfully gloomy diaspora.
The idea seems to be to create substance – “that special something”, in other words. And the brothers and Bakker have succeeded. While ‘Griis’ was naturally impressive for its eccentricity of interplay on the foreign, ‘Dize’ is really something else altogether. Something that enacts creating more substance, creating a fluid from it, and spinning a roulette between the integers of nothing, something and everything. The vocals speak as such; comprised of syllables that are always half-uttered, but always remembered.