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Set Fire To Flames, "Telegraphs In Negative/Mouths Trapped In Static"
Armed with insomnia, a handful of members from the Godspeed family, and some egregiously long song titles, Set Fire To Flames oscillate only between dark minimalist music to moderately fleshed out instrumentals. Though Set Fire To Flames does not stimulate the same fiercely glorified feeling as Godspeed, they are able to elicit a more subtle response in some of their songs which has the potential to be no less rewarding. Most of the time, though, this sensation is a little more evasive, and the rewards a little more oblique.
The ensemble is quiet, and soft-spoken, and forever tinkering with their own sound, like a child who is playing doctor for the first time. "Deja, Comme Des Trous De Vent, Comma Reproduit," the first song is a meandering melody line which repeats over and over with instruments coming in and departing. The line is engaging enough that the repetition is not abrasive. "Holy Throat Hiss Tracts to the Sedative-Hypnotic" features a field recording (not the only one of the album) of a truly mundane story recounted by an older gentlemen; something about a horse and a trampling. Or was it a trampoline? An intense creaking frames the story, sounding either like the creaking of a ocean vessel's guts or some ungodly-built metal structure held together by linchpins of corroded plastic. It's almost as if the old man realizes the banality of his story, for he swings wildly in the other direction and recounts a entirely incredulous tale of fire emanating from some man's eyes. "When Sorrow Shoots Her Darts" is a moody orchestral piece which regains some of the composure from the first songs, but ends too soon. The final song on disc one, "Tehran in Seizure/Telegraphs in Negative," is a marked change in sound, more of an organic noise piece than the others. The other departure in sound is "Buzz of Barn Flies Like Faulty Electronics," which approaches free jazz. The souls of both songs are muted and understated, demonstrating the how you have to listen rather intently to these songs in order to find their elegance, a lesson which instructs the listening for the whole album. In the end, the album does not sound dissimilar from what is actually is: a talented ensemble isolated in the confines of a dark house, making improvisational music while staring at boarded-up windows, blank walls, and a dearth of stimuli straight in the face.
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