[caption id="attachment_1589" align="aligncenter" width="630" caption="Photo: Emilie Bailey"][/caption]
What are the mesmeric, soul-plumbing limits of an arpeggiator? London's Factory Floor seem intent on finding out -- or may already have. Taking the mandate of acid house -- enlightenment through repetition, sweat via bare bones -- and a theoretical starting gate that could name check Genesis P-Orridge and John Cage without being offensive, Factory Floor are a three-piece consisting of Gabriel Gurnsey, Nic Colk and Dominic Butler. And let’s be honest: they're digging heel into some deep shit. In a time when so much of our internal life is mediated by electric current, it's not a hard sell.
The nature of Factory Floor's music is that of one of those ouroboros dragons: The more tail you eat, the closer you come to the point. There's an emotional liberty that happens within eight minutes of drone and flourish -- somewhere along the line, it explodes and ricochets around the skull, lighting up little wallflower neurons and sending them down your mirrored rabbit hole. Some people (themselves included) have related Factory Floor's music to taking a drug, and that's not entirely preposterous. In a way that binaural beats, or i-doses -- those hearing-testish sines that supposedly mimic the effects of narcotics, don't really work for any number of reasons. Factory Floor sort of do. It helps to close your eyes.
This year seems to be a culmination for the three-piece; After strong early backing from artists like the intercontinental and similarly-minded Liars, Nick Cave's frothing beast Grinderman (for whom they turned in a remix of "Evil" that frustrated some people) and Sonic Youth, Factory Floor are scheduled for some serious work throughout the remainder of the year, most notably at "I'll Be Your Mirror," the ridiculously staffed mini-festival curated by All Tomorrow's Parties and Portishead this summer in London.
Check out "Lying."
And “A Wooden Box.”