More about: bdrmm
Euphoria rides in on a white horse, and cracking the whip are a five-piece from Hull. Whilst many of their contemporaries are exploring the confines of bedroom pop, bdrmm have transcended their origins and are conjuring a revival of the ethereal shoegaze realms for the likes of Gen-Z. With a sound that is evocative of the quieter moments in life, their moniker is aptly suited to the subdued and almost languid take on an effervescent genre as timeless as existence itself.
With a plethora of song titles that relay a struggle which teeters on the edge of solution before plunging back into its own murky origins, ‘Momo’ sets the scene with its sonic dissonance and oscillating wave of atmospheric guitars; an imperative and formulaic part of bdrmm’s soundscape since their inception.
At a time where we’re all looking for aural salvation from the chaotic inundation of all that is happening around us, bdrmm are the salve that eases the wounds of an archaic society, showing that anxieties are a natural flow of life. ‘Push/Pull’ finds itself exploring tension in a crescendoing climax which grows out of the effervescent wall of sound, giving way to those languid, reverb-soaked vocals. It’s a summation of the album being the perfect soundtrack to a late night drive through a city seeped in memories of a hazy, forgotten youth.
Ryan Smith’s vocal takes are sparse, and oftentimes no more than a subdued wisp of smoke that dances and shimmers through a smog of dream-pop. With shimmering sentimentalism wrapped up in an undulating bass line that eventually morphs into an aqueous guitar riff, ‘Happy’ is a timestamp on the amorphous nature of hindsight as you navigate your formative years: “I don't know why we both didn’t try. I hope that you’re happy, because I'm happy if you’re happy.”
Tapping back into a somnambulant languidness, the lack of drums and almost in-reverse nature of ‘(The Silence)’ invokes a sense of a sluggish trundling through murky depths as you claw your way out of a muddy mind. That this bleeds into ‘(Un)happy’, a song with an ending that feels like witnessing the onset of a sedative as the world carries on blissfully around you, is testament to bdrmm’s natural gift of creating transcendental music.
Whilst the intro of ‘If…’ contains the most resolute statement so far in terms of unity and intent behind the guitar playing, with a heaviness in the wall of sound that is yearning and emotive at the same time as being scuzzy and sparse, it’s the unexpected jazz-inflected tremolo guitars in ‘Forget The Credits’ that offer a glimpse into bdrmm’s future. With obscure lyrics such as: “If you knew what I’d done, would you still forgive? It would not concern me as much as it would you,” containing all of the nonchalant romanticism and unforgiving charm of Ted Bundy lurking in a jazz bar on a dusky evening, bdrmm seem to just be scratching the surface on their evocative and intoxicating knack for storytelling.
Bedroom is released on 3 July 2020 via Sonic Cathedral.
More about: bdrmm