by Dan Goldin (@post_trash_)
It can at times be hard to explain what exactly makes a band so special. Maybe it’s because I’m not much of a writer, but maybe it’s because some bands defy simple categorization. For the past seven years, EXEK has been one of those bands, the majesty of their sound difficult to capture in words. They reached near perfection around the releases of Good Thing They Ripped Up The Carpet and Advertise Here, the fusion of their efforts coalesced. Often it’s the bands you can’t quite explain that leave the most lasting of impressions. There’s more to be said for music that keeps you coming back than there is for immediacy. Melbourne’s EXEK are of that breed, a band that reward commitment, attention to detail, and an ear for a sort of dimly light celestial deadpan. They’re a band with an esteemed cult following, a legendary sextet to those invested. Sure, you could describe their sound as timeless and shapeshifting post-punk awash in synths and guitars (that sound like synths), but it would be an injustice to their alien landscapes and their unique vision. EXEK occupy their own plane of existence.
You could make the argument that EXEK’s music lies closer to the retro space-age lounge side of the post-punk spectrum, occupying a dreamy state of jazzy exploration as opposed to anything sharp and jittery. There aren’t many “riffs” so to speak. While so much “dreamy” music is a comfort or at least meditative in a sense, EXEK seem to find their solace in the more unsettling moments of subconscious existence. The Map and The Territory, the band’s latest album, never subsists on dread or tension, the sound is rarely claustrophobic, but the sense of mystery is palpable, we’re wandering the unknown. That seems to be by design, as the band worked to create an emphasis on pop structure, but the atmosphere remains vast and disorienting, a haze that never settles, spreading outward to encompass touches of R&B and art rock in subtle brushstrokes.
EXEK have become known for adapting surrealist impressions in their sound via krautrock and dub influences, but It’s hard to pull apart the layers upon listening - the synths, trumpets, heavily effected guitars, samples, and dazzling rhythms all feel mutated together, oozing like some amorphous creature from The Thing. Where that comparison would imply terror though, the band eschew dread for a feeling of false tranquility and wonder, the atmosphere is ominous but ultimately inviting. EXEK never really sound destitute, there’s a psychedelic beauty to The Map and The Territory. Tending to steer clear of dynamic spikes without sacrificing texture, there are moments where synths and guitars peel away but it’s all mixed into the fog, each rising moment a microcosm of the whole. Everything the sextet do seems careful not to seep away from the psychedelic vision, each piece pivotal to the next. The framework feels reliant on Chris Stephenson’s drums, recorded live, sampled, overdubbed, and manipulated in a way that pulls you deeper into the black hole. It’s in the fluid nature of the rhythms, snapping in and out of place, that the fever dream is guided, our world expanding into infinite possibilities.
Led by Albert Wolski, his lyrics match the disoriented state of the music, his words often delivered in short surrealist prose, pieced together with meanings blurred and open to interpretation. Throughout The Map And The Territory it would seem his lyrics explore themes of greed, the indifference of the wealthy, and overconsumption, while giving a nod to class struggle, and a voice to the working class. The path is never a straight line however, Wolski’s statements feel at times like riddles, observations muddled and reshaped, taking the piss out of high society in patchwork reflections of poetic resolve. Every time you think you’ve picked up on the meaning of a song, you get a fantastic line like “workers need work, so says the goose that flew up last spring, that came up to see me, to make me smile.” Take it as you might, it’s great writing without reliance on transparity. Elsewhere on “The Glow of Good Will,” a song with a the title speaks volumes, Wolski seems to explores fate, fortune, and the idea that all isn’t cut and dry, singing, “at first glance your ombudsman appears reliable but then again”. It’s in that unknowing that his words ring most sardonic.
Drums echo and skid, reverb is layered in shadows, and songs are left to evolve, evidence from the onset of “On The Ground Floor,” the album’s patient album opener. While the band expressed their intentions of drawing closer to “pop” accessibility, they can still feel miles away depending on the song, and we’re not complaining. “On The Ground Floor” is void of hooks or much in terms of repetition, the song really forming in stumbling movements, the unpredictable nature of it perhaps at the core. That sense of catchy hooks does however comes into focus on “Welcome To My Alibi,” taking a left-field approach to a memorable chorus, bouncing between an almost progressive synth melody and the boom-bap spirit of the drums. It’s careening and kind of shrouded in the signature EXEK fog, but it’s lively, delightedly askew, and decidedly engaging.
While often difficult to unglue ourselves from the textural capacity of the music, EXEK warble into atonal and abrasive territory on occasion. “Seamstress Requires Regular Breaks” opens with a flurry of trumpet from Valya YL Hooi prior to settling into a dissonant shuffle, the whole thing like a seasick excursion into a human rights nightmare. Between a hypnotic use of lyrical repetition, Wolski seems to thread impossible expectations, “the first rooms were kitchens, the first shops were tailors, the first cities fell, and considered now failures”. The song appears to revolve on a lack of empathy, doing so over a brilliant drum beat that slips and slides behind bleeding horns and synths without shape. For all the expansion of their sound, EXEK still offer reminders of their roots, embracing motorik rhythms on “The Lifeboats” and mesmerizing hard to pin down post-punk on “French Alps Insurance Group”. The Map And The Territory is a voyage in constant motion, the edges are intentionally dulled in favor of a formless psych expanse. Even as they continue to grow and expand their seamless influences, everything seems to fall effortlessly into place, naturally unnatural.