Shackleton The Scandal Of Time

‘The Scandal of Time’ bookends a prolific period of experimentation for Sam Shackleton and follows a raft of
collaborations (with Wacław Zimpel, Heather Leigh and Scotch Rolex this year alone) with what amounts to
his first new solo album since 2021.
Shackleton’s been edging away from the dancefloor for about a decade now, exploring alternative tuning
systems, modern classical sounds and non-Western rhythms. ‘The Scandal of Time’ works not just as a précis
but a daring leap forward, mixing ghosted, traditional; German folk songs with heart-piercing basslines,
xenharmonic percussion and open-ended drones, on what promises to be his last solo release for a while.
Anna Gerth recites a familiar 16th Century German folk song on ‘Eine Dunkle Wolke’, singing distinctly over
lathery, lysergic electronics and skittering drums. When sub tones cut through the mix, they’re not there for
heft, but to enhance the meditative richness of the composition. It’s almost trip-hop in an oblique way, not
the kind of raked-over fluff that’s hovering into view again - but authentically psychedelic gear spiked with
cracked mirror oddness of the earliest Mo’Wax deployments.
Shackleton freezes and granulates that momentum even during the album’s most vaporous moments; ‘There is
a Seed’ and ‘The Dying Regime’ are knotty propositions, using vocals as uncanny whispers rather than hooks.
On the former, disembodied words curl around rubbery hand drums and gummy electronic stings, and on
the latter, Shackleton stretches words into choral chants, letting levitational South Asian rhythms cook slowly
with thick bass and spine tingling folk hums.
When Gerth returns on ‘Es Fiel ein Reif’, she’s transported into the world of the romantic poets, reciting a 19th
Century song-poem from German writer and folk song researcher Anton Wilhelm von Zuccalmaglio, who
claimed that the lyrics were taken from early history. Here, Shackleton and Gerth dip in and out of sinuous
surrealism with thumb piano, metallophone vortexes, ghost choirs and stirring claps. ‘Faraway Flowers’
follows, obscuring voices beneath echoed piano rolls and digitised rainfall, drawing us closer and closer to
the album’s entrancing conclusion. ‘Abend Wird Es Wieder’ is a perfectly bizarre finale, an alluring haze of
stoic vocals and fictile instrumentation that sounds cinematic without adhering to any rules.
The eerie, hauntological world Shackleton has created here is a testament to his years of work on
experimental bass music’s fringes. He’s managed to shepherd us through so many disparate musical styles
that have here been finally sutured into a single, startling vessel