The last time we heard from TRAAMS, they were eight minutes down the garden path in an exploratory direction with ‘A House On Fire’, expanding on their tenacious notions of discordance and temperance with no sign of actively stopping. Then they disappeared.
So it feels pertinent perhaps that nearly five years on, in the advent of such exploration of considered chaos satiating the cyclical tastemakers appetites of late, that they would return literally out of nowhere. On their own terms. Sounding as vivacious and essential as they did back then.
‘The Greyhound’, a near ten-minute locomotion of blossoming notions – is an enrapturing embodiment of time passed, and the visceral release that’s left unfelt in the constant desire for contentment. Their insistency on deftly augmenting the experience rather than adhering to constraints that are more instantly accessible is no surprise – yet its in that considered intricacy they’ve emboldened their sound – the guitars leers more menacingly, the rhythm itself lurks in a deeper pool of atmospheric foreboding, it leaves you unsure of whether to feel anxious about what’s happened in the past, or what’s happening right around you and about to stun.
Where they’ve coyly played with the frames of music tradition previously to provoke the more distressed character of their sound – here they craft a suite that feels like a more seamless and matured representation, time and tendency ironically allowing their sound to ripen with voluminous expression.