Boris - Flood
December 15th, 2000.
Boris' third album Flood was released a quarter of a Century ago. It's one 70-minute long post-rock/drone/ambient wave split in to four separate parts - I, II, III, IV.
"Part I": Start-up hiss/fuzz/haze. The tape is in motion. The repetition of a motif until it becomes nonsensical - the musical equivalent of saying the same word over-and-over again until it gets lost in understanding; it reverts from meaning back to mere sound. The sounds loop round-and-round; over and under themselves. Thumping, reverb-heavy drums fall to earth like rain cast in lead. The same thoughts whirring inside your head. One day to the next. Inescapable delirium. Pretty flowers which bloom and turn sour - poison. Feral feedback. Observable, but intimately minute, like seasons, Flood flows.
Flood "Part II" is drop-dead gorgeous. I used to stroll up the road that my house was on after a six-day work week and tune the fuck out of life and tune the fuck in to "Part II" - everything felt like it was in motion, at least for that brief moment. "Soul-soothing" would be a more than decent descriptor; "life-affirming" another. Reflective. Calming. Brain-balm. Quiet confidence. Hazy infinitude. Breathing in the mourning air. I've always thought that the guitar solo of sorts that breaks away at the 10'26" mark is untimely. The meandering sorrow that came before could have sauntered on forever. There may be an intentional lesson in there: nothing lasts forever. As much as you think it will - both the good and bad - it wont; it can't. The eerie peace-and-quiet: predictor of end-times. The tranquil has had its time. Out of order comes chaos.
"Part III": The wave makes its way inwards. From far out at sea to shore. The ripples slowly creep in. Baby steps turn cavernous. The structures that kept you afloat for so long have succumb to subtle erosion. The illusions that lead you on have shown their true intentions. War and peace.... and back to war. The reset. The push back from the push forth. Equals and opposites. The remains of a crusted earth. The smell of burnt flesh and a dying forest. Submerged. Held under. Twisted distortion threatens the threshold.
"Part IV" slowly subsides, flows outwards. Tears in the fabric; ripples in the infinite. The norm regained. Adjusting in the aftermath. If you pay close attention during the storm/trouble/flood, you return a more still being once the flood passes: a cleansed facet of flesh; a polished gem; a reflection of the truth; a wink from the cosmos; a piece of malleable energy. A clean slate. Fit for purpose. Fit for life.
