Bleep

There’s often a sonic fearlessness when an artist reaches their eighth career album. For Kelly Lee Owens, she couldn’t bother waiting another six albums for that moment.

​​Upon releasing her second album Inner Song months into the pandemic, the Welsh producer realised touring was no longer in the cards and took the last flight out to Oslo before borders closed. The plan upon arriving at her Norwegian residence was hazy; she connected with respected avant-noise artist Lasse Marhaug, who had been diving into Throbbing Gristle’s industrial recordings for inspiration. Owens, meanwhile, was leaning at the time on her lifelong musical guide in Enya. Somehow, Owens and Marhaug’s interests merged, breaking ground on an album that found Owens at her most ethereal amidst a swirling backdrop of industrial tension.

The resulting 8 makes for a hair-raising tug of war between its ominously experimental and divinely spacious influences. ‘Release’ opens the collection on an ear-drilling loop before Owens’ robotic whisper and a pulsating kick offer the opposite of its title. That release doesn’t come for another few tracks, but the eight-minute celestial exploration of ‘Anadlu’ makes the tense wait more than worthwhile. 8 at large is an album that approaches otherworldly beauty, but remains just out of reach with its machinist underpinnings. Tracks like ‘Olga’ and ‘One’ would make heavenly needle drops should David Lynch take another backwards dance through the Black Lodge, but 8’s final few tracks ultimately give into the lurking darkness. ‘Quickening’ simulates a meditation class at the end of the world before ‘Sonic 8’ closes the set with a “wake-up call” as distorted static and nuclear bass pulses blast in the distance.

Much like the world it was created in, 8 doesn’t offer an answer as to whether peace or chaos prevails, but it positions Owens as an artist who is capable of articulating both.