Kontravoid

Kontravoid

The name Kontravoid be­longs on a li­mited run cas­sette circa 1980-something, the type of tape buried in lost upstate dustbins of pre-MIDI an­alog electronics, wed­ged bet­ween Cabaret Vol­taire and Das Ding. The dark in­dustri­al and new wave in­flu­ences are strong on ex-Crystal Castles drumm­er Cam Fin­dlay’s new pro­ject—his voice is scary, like an ec­ho­ing un­der­wat­er growl—but the un­der­ly­ing pop melod­ies al­ways af­ford a de­gree of breath­ing room.

After de­part­ing as writer/produc­er for Toron­to band Para­llels, Fin­dlay has settled into a music ven­ture he can call his own, as­sum­ing the ident­ity of this mas­ked alter-ego for what ap­pears to be a per­manent ride.

On his debut self-titled album, Kontravoid turns to an­alogue syn­ths to create a dark, brood­ing pop mas­terpiece. His bril­liant voc­als emit a dys­topic low-grown, often runn­ing through war­ped ef­fects ac­companied by ex­cep­tional­ly stirr­ing ar­peggiated syn­ths and was­hes of sound. Modern touchstones could para­llel the likes of John Maus or Trust, but Kontravoid’s vis­ion is a much more twis­ted one, em­brac­ing goth in­flu­ences and yield­ing a monstr­ous re­sult that is hard­er to de­fine. De­spite its sonic vam­piric­ism, Kontravoid’s music leaves plen­ty to dance and lose your mind to, but the im­agina­tion here goes way be­yond these ac­tivit­ies ex­clusive­ly.

 
 

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