(le) poisson rouge

Yes Giantess (formally known as just Giantess) are a four-piece who make pretty party-worthy jams and originate from Boston, Massachusetts. The band members are Jan Rosenfeld (vocals/ synth), Chase Nicholl (synth), Karl Hohn (synth) and Joey Sulkowski (drums). With Ratatat-sized synths and huge pop choruses, Yes Giantess is pretty much the sonic equivalent of flying down the yellow brick road while its raining ecstasy and skittles. They’re like the tequila-fuelled love-child of Iglu & Hartly and Hockey, with a raging doubt that Passion Pit might actually be the father. They’ve practically swallowed a Lego kit of synths and beats before spewing it up again with a scream of intent. Sensible songs these are not, but they are very fun. The same sort of fun as ending up getting it on in the bathroom at a houseparty; edgy and immense at the time but with a distinct bitter taste of regret in the morning.

The debut full-length album by LIGHT ASYLUM has been a long time coming, but not without rabid anticipation. As their self-released In Tension EP circulated and resonated with new leagues of listeners worldwide, the reputation of duo Shannon Funchess and Bruno Coviello sweltered via their intense live show, collaborations, and remixes. LIGHT ASYLUM marks Funchess’ and Coviello’s return to the recorded fray with renewed intent, emotion and visceral energy, all to powerful effect.

Described as “able to hypnotize and hold an audience in a state of bondage,” Funchess has sealed a reverent status through her vocal breadth and captivating expression. Having shared recordings with the likes of Teengirl Fantasy, Telepathe, TV On The Radio, !!!, and Ford & Lopatin, the multi- instrumentalist’s vocal talents stay in steady demand. LIGHT ASYLUM cements Funchess’ reputation as a singular voice. From the guttural intonations and militaristic drills to the melancholic leading melodies and operatic tenor, Funchess’ range remains wide but balanced and carefully controlled.

Having spent years touring and performing as synth pop project The Dreamies, Coviello channels a different strand of influence and completes the LIGHT ASYLUM sound alongside Funchess. The result is an uncompromising, rugged mixture of coldwave, EBM and electro-industrial structured through pop of the toughest sensibilities. A LIGHT ASYLUM production straddles underground electronic club music and radio song culture – part introverted, aggressive vehicles, part bright, jubilant fanfares – passages of carefully devised harmony and melody bloom between stabs of driving keyboards and drum machines.

LIGHT ASYLUM is a collection of ten songs that are contemplative and starkly necessary. From the heated synth punk of “IPC,” “Pope Will Roll” and “At Will” to the cinematic modesty of love songs like “Angel Tongue,” “Shallow Tears” and “A Certain Person”; the basement-found emotions of “Hour Fortress” and “Sins of the Flesh” to the melodic dramas of “Heart of Dust” and “End of Days,” LIGHT ASYLUM have achieved an exhilarating, genuine and important moment.

When your songs are too big to be contained: form a band. Maybe call it after your family name because you like the way it sounds (shit, if it worked for Bon Jovi then who’s to argue). Record those songs in the basement of your parents house in Tacoma. When that burns down, shake it off and move to New York. Find a new band to play with, start working on a symphony (no really, do it), mix your newfound formal training with the noisy exuberance of youth. Get raucous.

It's high noon in Brooklyn but its always midnight on southern, dead end suburban streets. Here, there is total silence except for the house at the very end, where inside a tin roof garage, teenagers are kissing for the first time. The humidity is too great, the boys peel off white t’s and the girls cheeks are flushed, beet red under the garage’s two fluorescent stripes. In a pond behind the house an alligator waits for a snow birds’ Pomeranian to take its night stroll. A child is sleep walking for the first time. Some one is running away for the last time. The music is too loud on the 12 D battery boom box radio, the cops are on their way. It’s at this moment you hear the music of Twin Shadow on a radio station transmitting suburban ghost dreams that sound like a slow motion shot of a cannon, singing about spirits, visions, and aural hallucinations cutting through the first American night.