Teeth of the Sea - WRAITH

A Closer Listen

Ten years have passed since Orphaned by the Ocean, and Teeth of the Sea is still going strong.  (Having formed in 2006, the band is now a teenager ~ look out, world!). So why don’t the musicians look happy?  It’s partially due to the spectral presence felt throughout the recording of what would become their fifth album proper.  Whether reality or fiction, the haunting persists throughout the set, starting with disjointed voices in the opening track and continuing through the final bells.

Teeth of the Sea is self-defined as a psychedelic rock band, but the truth is a bit more elusive.  In their early years, the band leaned more to the side of post-rock, while in the middle period (2013’s MASTER), the synths took control.  The band’s consistency is in its signature sounds, its variations in the amount used.  Trumpet has always been the primary distinguishing factor, followed by electronic beats and a combo of guitar and synth.  If TotS were a wine, one might detect hints of ambient, industrial and even screamo (thankfully dropped here, but present on 2015’s Highly Deadly Black Tarantula).  Presentation is important, as vinyl collectors will attest, the releases each sporting a different shade ~ orange, magenta, white, teal and now fluorescent green ~ each enhanced by the sporty Rocket Recordings label.

But perhaps the most appropriate association is to the work of Morricone.  It takes more than a trumpet to sound like the master, and the band’s music would never be mistaken for a product of the 60s or 70s ~ if anything, an 80s influence shines through.  The languid tone and widescreen presentation conjure comparison, or should we say wraith?  Lead single “Hiraeth” makes no bones about honoring his work, with deep bass and playful synth.  But when those western guitars plunge in, we’re out on the prairie, wearing chaps, riding horses, 6-guns in our hands.  The band may have made a slight miscalculation in the video, as the dust is perfect but the rapid-fire editing is far more electro.  The confusion continues in the press release, which squeezes in references to Tetsuo, Judee Sill (via “Fortean Steel”), and those persistent wraiths, referring to the music as “kitchen sink surrealism.”  Toss in the fact that hiraeth is a melancholic term referring to nostalgia for a time or place that cannot be recaptured, but for which one is grateful.  In short, there are too many references; it’s better to let the music do the talking.  And the best way to do this is to follow the trumpet.

The organ tones of “Burn of the Shieling” conjure images of an old prairie church, while electronic percussion throws the track firmly into the 21st century.  But listen to the trumpet, the unifying force, which bridges the gap through the beats, through the birds and back to the organ.  The band may be down to three members, but in order to remain relevant, they’ll always need Sam Barton.  Thanks to Barton, the rest of the band, along with the guests, can go wild, exploring whatever sonic territories they choose.  Even a raucous guitar solo (“Her Wraith”) has its place.  In this cinematic set, the only ghosts are the ghosts of the groove.  (Richard Allen)

Drowned In Sound 80

Such an attitude is applaudable, but in hindsight there were perhaps signs on 2015’s Highly Deadly Black Tarantula that it had its limitations. Did a pair of brilliant (but rather jarring) power electronics diversions – replete with vocal shrieks from now former drummer Mat Colegate – really belong on the same album as the electronic-tinged post-rock of ‘Love Theme from 1984’? After all, if the record before that – 2013’s Master (their finest work) – had proved anything it was that Teeth of the Sea’s many influences could slug it out most effectively when placed in cohesive sonic context. There’s a lot to be said for eclecticism, but there’s even more to be said for bringing eclectic themes together into a convincingly focused whole with a shared sonic template.

WRAITH by Teeth Of The Sea

Master’s ambient-krautrock-techno hybrid base is back on Wraith, which isn’t afraid of putting its foot to the floor when needed (as on barnstorming opener ‘I’m Ready, Jack’), but is also comfortable allowing listeners to drift across hauntingly beautiful soundscapes (as on the delightful ‘Our Love Can Destroy This Whole Fucking World’). Stripped back to a core trio – Sam Barton, Mike Bourne and Jimmy Martin remain – Teeth of the Sea sound more confident and polished than ever. The album gives the impression of being the truest realisation yet of the sound in the group’s head, tightly focused and stripped of unnecessary accoutrements. Its forty-seven minutes simply fly by in a deluge of chopped guitar assaults, trumpet fanfares, and synth flair.

If there’s a critique to be made of Wraith then it’s rather an unfair one: the album’s consistency means that its multiple highlights blend into a sumptuous whole rather than acting as immediate standouts. This makes for a marked contrast to previous albums, where there have one or two tracks that have stood out dramatically from the pack, not necessarily due to greater quality but out of sheer ecstatic immediacy. The comparative absence of such moments here may be largely a result of the fact that Wraith maintains the highest standards throughout, but the overall effect is that the album lacks a true knockout punch. This is despite the best efforts of centrepiece ‘VISITOR’ and epic closer ‘Gladiators Ready’, which both feel they have been (perhaps overly) designed to fulfil such a role.

It may be, then, that Wraith is Teeth of the Sea’s best, but also subtlest, album to date. This is a tremendously accomplished piece of work, but one lacking a little of the swagger of previous outings. Give it the time it deserves.

The Guardian 60

(Rocket Recordings)

The trumpets that permeate Teeth of the Sea’s fifth album act like the prophetic horns of Jericho. Laid thick with reverb, they herald the dystopian landscape the London-based trio create through nine tracks of scattering electronic percussion, earthy bass lines and eerie ambience.

Largely instrumental, Wraith plays more like a slab of techno experimentalism than the noise-based maw of their previous record, 2015’s Highly Deadly Black Tarantula. The brutality dissipates on opener I’d Rather, Jack courtesy of Italo disco synths pilfered from Erol Alkan’s Phantasy Sound studio, where this album was recorded. As Wraith progresses, club sounds morph into the jazz horns and dissonant bass of Hiraeth, before taking a breath in the brassy ambience of Burn of the Shieling.