 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Carmen Winstead album cover by Acetantina and The Regressor. |
Carmen Winstead, named and conceptualized after the chain-mail creepypasta They Pushed Her, is the final album by Kaizo Ziad that will be a part of the Acetantina discography. The textures are bleak and dreary, often times taking abrupt stylistic turns that get progressively weirder as they go along. There's almost an ethereal nature to all of it, as if to say that the album represents or in some ways is a living breathing entity all on its own.
Despite being pretty danceable on a surface level, the veneer quickly becomes jarring amongst the often disturbing backdrop of it all, like how Gunk and Body Parts both seem to swiftly move on while the back ambience eerily looms over. There are also moments of rather blissful (if bittersweet) serenity, like They Pushed Her, which drags its feet through granualized and glitched samples and ends up possibly being the most striking moment aside from the final track. Carmen (the track) undergoes musical metamorphosis from a rather psychedelic EDM beat into a glitchy Vaporwave-esque ambient piece, which abruptly gets cut off by silence, before a MIDI version of the Super Mario Galaxy theme plays and closes the album, suggesting some form of happy ending or eerie twist that we never really understand from an outsider's perspective.
This album is scary, but it's not filled with jump-scares or anything of a similarly rather cheap caliber. The way that this album approaches its subject reminds me a lot of a good horror movie or game, where despite the overwhelming negative feeling, you want to know what happens next. The appeal of this album is that you don't really know what sort of direction it's going to take next, which I commend alongside its consistency in quality, which is what makes Carmen Winstead such a fascinating listen.
Despite being pretty danceable on a surface level, the veneer quickly becomes jarring amongst the often disturbing backdrop of it all, like how Gunk and Body Parts both seem to swiftly move on while the back ambience eerily looms over. There are also moments of rather blissful (if bittersweet) serenity, like They Pushed Her, which drags its feet through granualized and glitched samples and ends up possibly being the most striking moment aside from the final track. Carmen (the track) undergoes musical metamorphosis from a rather psychedelic EDM beat into a glitchy Vaporwave-esque ambient piece, which abruptly gets cut off by silence, before a MIDI version of the Super Mario Galaxy theme plays and closes the album, suggesting some form of happy ending or eerie twist that we never really understand from an outsider's perspective.
This album is scary, but it's not filled with jump-scares or anything of a similarly rather cheap caliber. The way that this album approaches its subject reminds me a lot of a good horror movie or game, where despite the overwhelming negative feeling, you want to know what happens next. The appeal of this album is that you don't really know what sort of direction it's going to take next, which I commend alongside its consistency in quality, which is what makes Carmen Winstead such a fascinating listen.
Comments
Post a Comment