Album Review: DUNDDW, Flux
Given that all-caps, all-improv jammers DUNDDW went so far as to create an entire-album visualizer of manipulated psychedelic mirror-screen colorizations peppered throughout with (parts of) philosophical quotes, it seems fair to say that the actual audio of Flux — the debut full-length from the Nijmegen, the Netherlands-based trio — is only part of the point. The three-piece comprised of bassist Huibert der Weduwen (also in Bismut and part of the arts duo PhosPhor, responsible for the aforementioned video and live visuals), guitarist Gerben Elburg (also of Mt. Echo) and drummer Peter Dragt (also in Bismut) present three longform, improvised pieces across the 44 minutes of Flux, recorded at Studio 888 and mastered by the esteemed Pieter Kloos at The Void Studio, it is an immersive and purposeful glimpse at the band’s beginnings.
Which is to say, another part of the point that goes beyond the audio itself when it comes to Flux is that it is formative. Across opener “VII – Part 4” (11:21), centerpiece “VI – Part 1” (22:26) and closer “VII – Part 2” (10:16) — and I’ll just go ahead now and wish you the best of luck keeping those titles straight — DUNDDW take a relatively raw-sounding approach to their style. Not that they don’t trip out, as toward the later reaches of the finale, or offer any semblance of drift, as in the swirling middle build of the leadoff cut, but all of this is offered with a clear mindset intent on remaining as organic as possible. There might be some layered overdubs, but if there are, it isn’t much, and nobody in the band is going back to touch up parts. The idea here is that DUNDDW are chasing an ideal of sonic and creative purity — the inspiration of the moment, at the moment it happens, recorded directly as it happened and offered in the most honest terms possible.
It’s true they’re not the first to do this, but they acquit themselves well across Flux with these extended snippets presumably cut from more extended jams. And that’s a kind of shaping of a release too, right? There’s an editorial decision being made there in carving out ‘part two’ of a thing instead of including the whole thing itself, but listening to the way “VII – Part 4” comes down with its drawling lead guitar over residual swirling effects and are-we-finished inquisitive toms, it legitimately feels like the last piece of whatever jam led them to the bassy start of the beginning of its fourth part. Does that make sense? Probably not.
Think of it this way: Flux is not completely untouched by human hands. You might say human hands made it. It is raw, but it is not just a rehearsal-room-on-iPhone recording, and as much as DUNDDW are setting their course for the heart of the jam, letting each piece find its path in ultra-organic fashion relying on what’s already a marked and palpable chemistry between the three of them — it better be, because they’re pretty light on fancy tricks otherwise at this point — they’re not at all un-mindful about what they’re doing. Even at their farthest-out points, they remain conscious, aware.
Should they continue to pursue such ethereal ends, working to capture the flash of a creative spark, that consciousness will serve them well if ultimately lead to some kind of direction, but part of the appeal of Flux as a debut album is that they aren’t there yet, and part of the reason it works — part of the point, if you want to go back to the start — is that they’re feeling their way through this material as it happens, not unlike the listener taking them on for the first time, someone maybe who has heard Mt. Echo or Bismut or who hasn’t and is just lumping around Bandcamp and stumbles onto them accordingly.
This mirrored exploration, the shared joy of not knowing what’s coming next, is central to the understanding of Flux, and even after one has been through the vastness of “VI – Part 1” multiple times, from its relatively quick emergence with the drums setting the pattern behind guitar effects intro, the bass joining, the guitar coming back around next over the funky progression that, suddenly, is underway, to its more thudding, more low-end pushing second-half roundabouts, resolving in a last stretch of chug before swirl eats it whole, they still surprise. Flux almost dares you to read it closely, to sit with each measure and movement DUNDDW make, to fully engage. Different audiences will, of course, have varied experiences.
Hearing again the sort of moaning soloing that tops “VII – Part 2” in its early going, I can’t help but wonder what role live performance will have for DUNDDW as they move forward; if they’ll be a band who records and releases every show they play à la Øresund Space Collective and others of an improvisational ilk, how they’ll work to bridge their multimedia impulses over time, and so on, but again, this too is part of what makes Flux so enjoyable — wondering, not knowing. For a record that sounds so open, it shows the band’s future to be much the same in that they very purposely set themselves to the task of conveying complete aural freedom.
That is not nearly as easy as it sounds, and DUNDDW do not seem to be thinking of it as a one-and-done kind of project — that is, just going by the sound here, how they progress over time will be part of their appeal in the longer term — but admirably, they do not sound cowed by such considerations, and the most resonant impression that comes out of Flux is the joyfulness behind its making. While not necessarily blinding in its shimmer (or trying to be), Flux is by no means dark or lacking in color even before one takes on its visual incarnation; its deep, earth-toned hues like hippie dyes made from berries found in the woods. A somewhat low-key celebration, maybe, but a celebration just the same, it is Elburg, der Weduwen and Dragt bidding welcome to those willing to take this voyage with them, and only the first chapter hinting toward a much longer tale. Here’s looking forward.
