Loosening the lid that holds back the chaos, ana fosca unleashes a battery of sonic torment to wash the landscape clean. Granular details become atoms splitting apart, opening new world while simultaneously destroying the old ones. So much of poised at the edge of structure rides an intense wave of creative force that its wake is a cascade of darkness; a midnight shroud cradling the decaying embers of auricular revelation. fosca goes full bore from the opening smears of “as elements become articulated to physical bodies” until the dying light that closes “face of absurdity.” It’s all in, all the time.
Industrial rhythms churn beneath scrapes and crackles, fingernails clawing their way back toward the charred surface that doesn’t want any of us anymore. The repetition grows heavier, louder. “revealed by its absence hidden by its presence” haunts the haunters. Long-forgotten wraiths have been awakened by the caustic drones and ancient incantations, and they’re coming. Stronger swells explode into a hellish furor on “memories losing its border;” the crunch of metal oblittering bones.
fosca’s music is visceral to the nth degree. Thick, serrated distortion gives her voice a tactile quality on “the in-between expanded and became everything,” heightening the expanding ferocity that fills every pore. Surfaces are sandpaper. Tones move at disparate angles to create sharp friction. Even in quieter spaces, where personal grief tries to drown itself on “images of infinity,“ the underlying abrasions blossom into communal lesions, the trauma multiplying itself across generational dimensions. The guttural oscillations of “a search for something already passing” dig further into these sensations, fosca’s voice ruminating, trying to find a means to escape. Catharsis won’t come easy, but the relentless scouring won’t quit.
Reprieve never truly comes on “poised at the edge of structure,” even if moments of quiet and brief melodic respites seep into the mix. fosca’s army of technical prowess and honed vision express the complex emotional wrath loss and grief wreak on us with immaculate precision. It doesn’t matter if the experience is shrouded in darkness or bathed in bright light, the hell of affliction and corrosive hollows where misery thrives don’t relent. “poised on the edge of structure” is difficult, but that’s the way to release these demons.
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