Gemma Ray it reappears from the shadows, central and shimmering, amidst a mesmerizing ocean of eerie, dense darkness. This “Gemma Ray & The Death Bell Gang”the ninth album by the British artist based in Berlin, offers us the most experimental and cinematographic palette of sound textures of her career, giving birth (together with producer Ralph Goldkind) ten evocative pieces that levitate above a haze of minimalist electronica, somber folk and signature psychedelic soul.
After his acclaimed “Psychogeology” (19), overflowing with precious and vibrant string arrangements and colorful choirs, Gemma Ray, under the motto of “no happy shit” (painted for the occasion on the wall of the recording studio), immerses us with “The Death Bell Gang” into atmospheric and fragmented black and white nightmares. Woven grooves based on funereal rhythms, reverberating echoes and throbbing melancholy. From the vaporous and enveloping blackness of “Procession”, to the scorching and suffocating tension of “All These Things”, going through the sticky, mantric and trembling heaviness of “I Am Not Who I Am”, or the sinister and heartbreaking “no return” of the initial spell, a “No Love” that bounces like the free fall of hope into a bottomless pit.
“Gemma Ray & The Death Bell Gang” is a handful of songs that are born after having a cup of tea with your neighbor and later exchanging instrumental and vocal tracks… Once it had to happen, it’s what living next to Ralf Goldkind’s Tempelhof studio has, which, in addition to being at sound controls, add synthesizers, bass and flute. Two more guests and an important part of this “Death Bell Gang” that accompanies Ray (synthesizers, guitar and knife under his arm): Christopher Hahn (Swans) and the everlasting strings of his lap-steel, and the drums and percussions of (Gemma’s regular) Andy Zammit.
And, although the fine rain of sadness does not stop, a star of light floats and everything revolves around him (her): the harmonic and warm voice of Gemma Ray as a heartbeat and compass to gradually get out of the bad dream. Resplendent and addictive in the dreamlike fragility of “Howling”, under the synthesized pop of “The Point That Tears” or in the undulating sweetness of a “Come Oblivion” that absorbs you and, be careful (you have been warned), it can end up trapping you in an infinite loop.