Mamaleek - Diner Coffee
The Flenser
Mamaleek's seventh studio album 'Diner Coffee' revolves around a loose ethos. Diner Coffee opens with the startling crush of a ten-tonne truck - the jeers of laughter embellish the staggering intro. You know when something special is on the way as the hair stands up on the back of your neck. Diner Coffee, The Twin Peaks of music, sets the standard of changing suit at a constant rate. Once you're comfortable, the chair in which you sit is pulled from under you. Scenery changes. Walls shift in size and tone. The cup on the table starts to slowly move further away, closer again, further away. Things are in reach, or at least they were. An ever-changing energy finds itself present. Is someone in here with us? If so, make a sound: jeering and contempt-filled laughter ensues.
'Boiler Room' is home to a beautiful cascading effect which does a great job in peeling the paint off of the walls in a serene way. Slowly the scene starts to heat up as the room struggles to maintain its composure. This room has seen things, but nothing as chilling and menacing as this. There's only so much four walls can take. Eventually they will begin to disintegrate.
Jazz-y undertones come through in Diner Coffee, especially during penultimate track - which was also a single released in the releases run up - 'Wharf Rats in the Moonlight'. A 6-minute cacophony of all sorts. It feels like its being stretched out over a multitude of genre. Like a song on a torture rack its pulled apart at its limbs.
You could look at the album as existing in two parts, though their not specifically any different in execution - as stated earlier jazz-y and chill vibes penetrate all through Diner Coffee. Laidback somewhat they exude 'cool'. The laidback-ness of it all is where the sense of unease comes from. As if the deed has been done and there's no turning back, so why not have a jolly in the meantime? Teetering on the edge of overspill Diner Coffee has a dark demeanour at hand at all times. There's a hell of a lot of subtleties to the album.
Diner Coffee is fronted by fantastic artwork - unsettling yet it aludes to reality enough to hit home. The monotony of existence comes through in a myriad of ways - a surreal connection is built with the front covers resident.
The Flenser continue their leftfield niche in which they've carved for themselves. They're basically the label to go to if you've been turned away, creative-wise, elsewhere. Anything goes as long as it maintains a certain standard. You're always guaranteed something utterly unique when you see their name appendaged to a piece. Major kudos to the Flenser camp.
