Ni

Complex compositions, noise attacks, bursts of laughter. Still three electric guitars and drums, still delightfully tricky and warm-heartedly brutal, still wacky and brilliant. NI doesn’t play riffs. The band offsets and stacks, metarocks and subrocks, sets up 4D ornaments, hatches poltergeists and allows them to soar. Never before has there been so much singing. All four band members join in, barking finely minced syllables. In between two beats they produce a dada and deliver it as a Gregorian chant. In a canon, the compact and minimalistic Austrian language becomes sound poetry.

NI are still on the move and therefore remain true to themselves. They are a synthesis of the arts. With each new album there are new stage outfits. This time it’s dark red overalls, from which white geometric figurations emerge. Topped off by matching hats. NI shoots benignly into the listener’s brain, turns up the corners of the listener’s mouth, opens the heart of both humans and spirit.