Whilst there are ghosts from the past here, Berberian Sound Studio also provides strong reminders of Broadcast’s unique and idiosyncratic sound – which could range from the icy and detached to the curiously moving.
Berberian Sound Studio is a wonderful, intense and darkly beautiful legacy to Keenan’s unique character, and testament to the band’s continuing ability as their world changes.
Berberian Sound Studio is both a bona fide film score and consistent electronica album, and in the wake of Trish Keenan’s tragic death carries the very real air of a requiem.
Turns out the Birmingham band’s creepily beautiful style fits the film directed by Peter Strickland like a ghoulish glove.
Berberian Sound Studio successfully builds on the spectral philosophy of Radio Age, and is even more of a radically disjointed tapestry of occult and funereal sound than that album was.
Berberian Sound Studio is all bone-chilling screams, deep red blood spilling across decaying celluloid, knives being raised pointedly in the air.
This sinister, skittering collection is the perfect compliment to Peter Strickland’s marvellous film.
Broadcast’s soundtrack for 'Berberian Sound Studio' is a triumph not just because it is inescapably aware of itself as a soundtrack but also serves as a fitting epitaph for the band’s singularity and vision throughout their all-too-brief career.
Cargill's interspersion of snippets of sound and dialogue from the film adds considerably to the overall experience, providing chilling and entertaining context along the way
It particularly reflects how electronic treatment can make everyday sounds disturbingly alien. It works as a sound tapestry so that no single track stands out but all are stronger by being part of the whole.
All in all, Berberian Sound Studio is a surprisingly complete and coherent effort, not simply for a soundtrack, but, frankly, more for the difficult conditions Cargill must’ve faced in bringing it to fruition.
#21 | / | Uncut |