Pram - The Moving Frontier (Domino)
4/5
By: Chris O'Toole
This is easy listening for the criminally insane, a bare bones experiment, and a skeleton without need for flesh. Minimal but compelling; sauntering through wet streets at dawn looking for entertainment.
From Birmingham and on stage for fifteen years, Pram are an evolving eclectic collective, tentatively feeling their way through a assortment of atmospheric and shimmering jams. Carving out a genuinely unique vision of what music should be, totally unsuitable for any occasion, yet rewarding should you take the plunge. Incorporating elements of trip-hop, noise, lounge and lucid dreaming, the group mutate between sunny-beach relaxation and waking up in a strange place wondering 'what on earth have I' done paranoia.
'The Moving Frontier' is an electro-pop album you can't possibly begin to dance to. Cave wall paintings presented as entertainment, stark and confrontational while also shy and retiring, without form, lurching in and out of view and around the shadows. More of an adventure than an album. Drones sneak in and out, given shape by glitch driven drums and bass, filled out with the siren voice off Rosie Cuckson; drawing sailors onto the rocks.
Their ninth album proper, The Moving Frontier is filled with ghost-ship keyboards, snaking across panoramic views of the world, rhythm employed as texture - existing in the moment your heart skipped a beat. Composed of 14 tracks, it is the dark river you seen in reoccurring nightmares, meandering toward a future you cannot imagine. You stand, starry eyed, wondering who would have composed such a piece; your eyes puffed by pollen, taken aback by the inquisitive orchestral pieces as you daydream away the time.
Pram are more of a spell than a band, an alchemist working magic on a crowd. Crows lined up along the telephone wire looking down at passers by, in possession of macabre secrets, unintelligible to mere mortals. A metaphysical apparition floating gently above your bed while you sleep. Their sound is built around a homemade Theremin, an intricate collection of idiosyncratic noises capitalising on the repressed fears of the listener.
Whimsical without being flippant, Pram bring a playful depth to the table, hypnotising listeners with their last day of summer sound; leaving a trail of helpless listeners in their wake mesmerised and enchanted.
Stream 'Salt and Sand' from 'The Moving Frontier' HERE.
Artists in this article: Pram
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