On A Quiet Afternoon
During the dim, dark days of the young year, as afternoon slips quietly into night, sit under an opened kilt in the chair by the window and watch the westerly wind spill clouds across the sky. Take a deep breath, pull on your ear goggles and let Sleeper Service take you on an adventure.
On their second album, the found sounds that marked Sleeper Service’s first year have taken a back seat to serried ranks of synthesisers. At times lush layers, at times boisterous bleeps, they frame each song, providing the space for a network of guitars, bass and drums, that nod towards metal and hold hints of krautrock.
The album opens with Free Jazz Mechanic, the most stripped-back track on the album. From a delicate beginning, it builds towards a frantic freak out middle, before fully finding its legs and then returning to its opening quietude.
After its track-pad clicks drop away, Milk Sandwich tries to be like those funky tunes named after soul foods, but it never quite makes it. Guitars take over and gradually pull the song towards the reaches of rock.
Waiting by the Edge of the Moon is a watching song, eyes tight, glancing, aware of its surroundings. Something sinister stirs, perhaps, too, an unexpected voice.
The rhythmic scrape of broken glass over hard rock drums and twin guitars usher in Under The Watchful Gaze (We Await Our Doom), the hardest-driving track on the album. It’s a song of breaks, of drops and returns, of stumbles and starts and stops and, through it all, a relentless drive that hammers on and on.
Next up, we rise early in the morning to get on the road, to get to the hills. We climb with anticipation, yet at Three Thousand Feet the skyline ahead is revealed as only another ridge and so we climb on, what lies ahead is unseen.
The well-oiled lines of Abaddon Half Track, a machine, rail-affixed, metronomic, electronic, will give way to the deep-toned darkness of metal in the end.
The Tale Of The Owl is a story in three parts. It begins with the staccato beat of war, eighty years distant, as stark a beginning as life can provide. The severity yields in part two to the sweet promises of tomorrow, to the promises of all our tomorrows, promises of things to come and things that will never be. But the promises slowly fade and reality dawns in minor chords, the third part of our tale. Under that reality, however, a bass theme develops that brings resolution and, finally, acceptance. In the end, you get a lifetime. No more, no less.
For Ruby.
On their second album, the found sounds that marked Sleeper Service’s first year have taken a back seat to serried ranks of synthesisers. At times lush layers, at times boisterous bleeps, they frame each song, providing the space for a network of guitars, bass and drums, that nod towards metal and hold hints of krautrock.
The album opens with Free Jazz Mechanic, the most stripped-back track on the album. From a delicate beginning, it builds towards a frantic freak out middle, before fully finding its legs and then returning to its opening quietude.
After its track-pad clicks drop away, Milk Sandwich tries to be like those funky tunes named after soul foods, but it never quite makes it. Guitars take over and gradually pull the song towards the reaches of rock.
Waiting by the Edge of the Moon is a watching song, eyes tight, glancing, aware of its surroundings. Something sinister stirs, perhaps, too, an unexpected voice.
The rhythmic scrape of broken glass over hard rock drums and twin guitars usher in Under The Watchful Gaze (We Await Our Doom), the hardest-driving track on the album. It’s a song of breaks, of drops and returns, of stumbles and starts and stops and, through it all, a relentless drive that hammers on and on.
Next up, we rise early in the morning to get on the road, to get to the hills. We climb with anticipation, yet at Three Thousand Feet the skyline ahead is revealed as only another ridge and so we climb on, what lies ahead is unseen.
The well-oiled lines of Abaddon Half Track, a machine, rail-affixed, metronomic, electronic, will give way to the deep-toned darkness of metal in the end.
The Tale Of The Owl is a story in three parts. It begins with the staccato beat of war, eighty years distant, as stark a beginning as life can provide. The severity yields in part two to the sweet promises of tomorrow, to the promises of all our tomorrows, promises of things to come and things that will never be. But the promises slowly fade and reality dawns in minor chords, the third part of our tale. Under that reality, however, a bass theme develops that brings resolution and, finally, acceptance. In the end, you get a lifetime. No more, no less.
For Ruby.
January 2020
Sings For Yer Hogmanay
Hogmanay micht be the maist Scottish nicht o the year. It's a nicht for tae luik forward tae the year aheid, an tae mind the yin feenisht. It's a nicht o celebratin an a nicht o music. So whit better way tae merk it than wi some guid auld Scots sangs?
Oreeginally a pro-Jacobite sang, the first o three Rabbie Burns sangs here wis altert by the bard in 1794. Charlie Is My Darlin yince celebratit yon Bonnie Prince. Burns instead leuks at the merry an tragic dance he led his country oan.
Hamish Henderson scrieved Freedom Come Aa Ye in 1960, as an anti-imperialist sang. It taks an unromantic view o Scotland's history in empire, an howps for a kynder future.
Tam O Shanter is, o coorse, Burns' epic tale o a drunken man an his frichtenen jurney hame fae Ayr efter gettin blootert. It's set here tae oreeginal music.
Nae Hogmanay is complete wi oot a rendeetion o oor final Burns sang, the timeless Auld Lang Syne. Gaun tae jyne in?
Hae a guid 2020. Lang may yer lum reek!
Oreeginally a pro-Jacobite sang, the first o three Rabbie Burns sangs here wis altert by the bard in 1794. Charlie Is My Darlin yince celebratit yon Bonnie Prince. Burns instead leuks at the merry an tragic dance he led his country oan.
Hamish Henderson scrieved Freedom Come Aa Ye in 1960, as an anti-imperialist sang. It taks an unromantic view o Scotland's history in empire, an howps for a kynder future.
Tam O Shanter is, o coorse, Burns' epic tale o a drunken man an his frichtenen jurney hame fae Ayr efter gettin blootert. It's set here tae oreeginal music.
Nae Hogmanay is complete wi oot a rendeetion o oor final Burns sang, the timeless Auld Lang Syne. Gaun tae jyne in?
Hae a guid 2020. Lang may yer lum reek!
December 2019
Waves Rollin EP
The daurk comes aroond again an we dae whit we can tae deal wi it. There's times whan yer doon an other times whan ye need tae get doon. Oan Waves Rollin ye micht end up daein baith.
November 2019
Ignorin the Signs EP
Sleeper Service are back wi their mix o multiple guitars an foond soonds, this time augmentit wi a lairger swade o electronics. The dance atween tradeetional instrumentation an unmusical objects is daurker oan this EP, reflectin baith the temporal slide frae simmer tae autumn an the hivy times we’re leevin throu.
September 2019
Glaikit Bams Paradin Doon Closes Aw The Nicht
On Glaikit Bams Paradin Doon Closes Aw The Nicht, Sleeper Service layer foond soonds oan tap o multiple guitars, tae creaut an intricate an at times dense album. Relentless motorik-hintin beats eik oot the cuirious rhythms o hoosehaud objects in a jubous dance, threitenin tae unleash unlikely mauments o funk. Metal riffs try tae find thair place amang sclices o skimmerin ethereal beauty.
In Bremner’s ain wirds: “In the lang, lang nichts at the beginin o the year ah realeesed ah haed tae mak music again. Ah wantit tae mak metal – ma auldest musical luve – leavent wi hints o Krautrock.
A few weeks in, ah noticed the hum o the extractor fan in the bathroom wis in the same key as the song ah wis workin oan. The song haed tae hae it. Things took aff frae there.
I re-discovered ma love o findin the music in ivery dey objects, o playin a semple tuin oan metal lamp shades or diggin the squeak o a door hinge. The whine o a faur awa aircraft landin, the plip o a drap o watter, camera shutters an railwey bowts aw foond their wey intae the recordin. An, o coorse, there wis the endless permutations o gettin juist the richt guitar soond.
For weeks oan end ah walkit the shores o the Firth of Forth listenin tae the sangs, afore returnin tae the studio tae tweak, refine an repeat. As the nichts reakit their shortest, wi the simmer sun settin ower Fife, inspiration frae the Scots leid gied me sang titles an completit an album ah niver expectit.”
In Bremner’s ain wirds: “In the lang, lang nichts at the beginin o the year ah realeesed ah haed tae mak music again. Ah wantit tae mak metal – ma auldest musical luve – leavent wi hints o Krautrock.
A few weeks in, ah noticed the hum o the extractor fan in the bathroom wis in the same key as the song ah wis workin oan. The song haed tae hae it. Things took aff frae there.
I re-discovered ma love o findin the music in ivery dey objects, o playin a semple tuin oan metal lamp shades or diggin the squeak o a door hinge. The whine o a faur awa aircraft landin, the plip o a drap o watter, camera shutters an railwey bowts aw foond their wey intae the recordin. An, o coorse, there wis the endless permutations o gettin juist the richt guitar soond.
For weeks oan end ah walkit the shores o the Firth of Forth listenin tae the sangs, afore returnin tae the studio tae tweak, refine an repeat. As the nichts reakit their shortest, wi the simmer sun settin ower Fife, inspiration frae the Scots leid gied me sang titles an completit an album ah niver expectit.”
July 2019