The Toronto experimental electronic duo Crystal Castles were slated to release their second album, also titled Crystal Castles just as their first (or iTunes adds a (II)), on May 25th. But after so-called “phenomenal demand and anticipation” for the new CC, the band digitally released their album a month early, Monday, April 26th on Fiction Records.
What follows is 53 minutes of contrasts.
Recalling that their first album was a collection of new tracks accompanied by songs found on demos and 7 and 12-inches released between 2005 to 2007, one might expect their second studio release to flow a bit more cohesively. No, why would anybody expect that?
Every track is singular. Purposely avoiding a smooth flow, many stop abruptly, collapsing at the end of their energy burst, before encouraging the next divergent cut and twist (many of which also take place within each individual track).
When the album soars with trance-y vibes and vox (“Celestica” above), it is sharply and immediately contrasted by the following punky electro violence (“Doe Deer” below), uncanned with scratched screams and adrenaline pumps.
The video-game feel of their debut takes a backseat, emerging towards the end of the album (“Pap Smear,” “Not In Love,” “Intimate”), with the rest relying more on ethereal dance beats (“Suffocation”) or the standout Oakenfold-Electronic Arts-Karen O technoclash of “Baptism.” The Sigur Ros-sampled “Year of Silence” takes the jubilant, angelic playfulness of the original song, “Inní mér syngur vitleysingur,” and dirties it up with sticky synth mud.
A pendulum that swings from distorted and droning, witchy scabs to crisply clean yet jittery trance repetition, the fourteen tracks produced by Ethan Kath were designed to be contrasts, written and recorded in incongruous environments around the world–a church in Iceland, a self-built cabin in Ontario, a garage behind an abandoned convenience store in Detroit, and one recorded in the London studio of Paul “Phones” Epworth.
It’s another album that doesn’t tell you much about the antisocial duo as Alice Glass’ vocals continue submerged, scattered and scrambled under reverberating synths and drum machines–perpetually indecipherable. From piercing screams to monstrous grumbles, a moment of being alone in the limitless bounds of outer space is quickly replaced by the sensation of being crammed into a sweaty punk club–from watching a delicate flame flicker in the breeze to waking up with sand gritting between your teeth.
Listen to “Doe Deer”:
The techno mixes with electroclash to condense an eight minute track into four, discarding the drawn out build ups, rather turning the intense climaxes on and off as seen fit. A lesson in aural health, do not turn your earbuds up too high when you feel a smooth groove developing–it’ll soon been taken over by harsh distortion until it can reemerge from depths that covered it (either on the same track or two tracks later).
A month before their debut release, Alice Glass told NME, “I like to piss people off. We want people to feel nauseous.” With their second self-titled album, they’ve continued. From violent noise art to thumping techno electro dance with ’80s synth-pop sense, they hope you hate it.
Sexy, soothing female vocals over infectiously brutal drums. Delightful electro-ambience. This is 
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