Speaking of Emma Ruth Rundle…among the long list of projects in her genre-spanning CV, one of my favorite releases is Salome, to date the only full-length project of the experimental group Marriages, featuring fellow Red Sparowes member Greg Burns.
Salome has entranced me since I was introduced to its chameleonic, at times eldritch, blend of post rock, alternative, and metal sensibilities. But that chimeric quality is perhaps even more prominent on Kitsune, the EP that preceded their full length by three years.
Where Salome was patient and brooding, Kitsune is a whirlwind. Its six tracks run into eachother seamlessly (though the vinyl splits up the brilliant transition between “Ten Tiny Fingers” and “Pelt“). Salome fused genres between individual songs on the track list, but Kitsune often jumps between moods in the same track. “Ten Tiny Fingers” is a great example, encapsulating the sludgiest and most atmospheric moments on the disk (not terribly unlike Rundle’s recent collaboration with Thou).
While tracks could certainly be enjoyed out of context here, it’s certainly most rewarding to take the sonic and emotional journey in one go.
“Ride in My Place” opens the record with an almost bluesy shuffle, Rundle’s effects-heavy voice brooding over her sparse electric guitar line and Burns’ overdriven bass, the chorus punctuated by stabs of synth. It crashes abruptly into the delicate “Body of Shade.” Layers of clean guitar arpeggios and ambient washes of tremolo picking swell over a straightforward drum groove until it all crescendoes with a rapidfire-tom pattern and a rising melody.
“Ten Little Fingers” brings it down even further with plodding drums and effervescent guitars, landing closest to the dark folk rock of her solo work. It builds slowly until it explodes into crashes of heavily distorted chords, bright synths hanging in the air above them.
“Pelt” introduces a vocal-less suite, starting with a pensive synth arpeggio that builds with atmospheric guitars and noise samples. It swells until the same progression bursts into the all-out barn-burner of “White Shape,” Burns’ urgent but stable bass line pinning the song to earth while Rundle’s molten slide guitar burns across the sky.
When the exuberant burst of “White Shape” is over, it collapses into the droning synth pad of “Part the Dark Again.” A subdued, echo-heavy guitar and a quiet rhythm section play beneath Emma’s voice, joined by a pitch-shifted clone. Layers of guitar and synth join until it explodes into a wall of noise—the guitars and bass engage the fuzz pedals and the drums play full tilt, overdriven slide guitar and synthesizers trading melodies in the upper register. It all collapses in a rhythmless collage of noise and feedback until only the droning note of the intro is left.
The track feels far shorter than its seven-minute runtime, but that’s not much of a surprise—the album as a whole feels than its own twenty-five minutes. And considering how many twists and turns it takes in that time, that’s some sort of Narnia-esque time warping magic. Brevity aside, Kitsune is not to be missed. It’s just as impressive as its full-length follow-up. Perhaps even more so, as it leans harder into their experimental tendencies without losing their footing.