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Attrition
Three Arms and a Dead Cert

Two Gods

Posted: Friday, August 08, 2008
By: Vlad McNeally

Across 16 albums an equal number of years, Attrition forges on as one of the few electronic gothic pioneers that still remain active and relevant. Still, some may wonder exactly what makes Martin Bowes and his rotating cadre of musicians so vital to the genre. For those individuals, they need look no further than Three Arms and a Dead Cert; originally released in 1996, it remains one of the defining albums of that eerie electronic subgenre known as electro-goth and easily one of Attrition's best works to date.

Opening with a squirming violin and a banshee wail, "White Men Talk" quickly dispels this ethereal entrance by prestigiously producing a peculiar chirping device, a muttering synth bass line, and a steam-powered drum machine beat. Around these clinical electronics, Attrition deftly weaves Julia Niblock's operatic falsetto lilt, Martin Bowes' acidic whispers, as well as a swirl of gypsy violin, resulting in an interesting juxtaposition of impersonal machinery and baroque theater. This formula of industrial meets neoclassical is further examined in "Acid Tongue," where Bowes' gravelly voice is counter-measured by abrupt falsetto peals, as violins float leaf-like over a tangle of twittering computers. Though drum automatons are set to a steady hi-hat shiver and bass march, orchestral outbursts lunge as if attempting to free themselves from these synthetic brambles.

Though Attrition's electronics remain a constant presence, some pieces stand out by conveying mood before rhythm. Set to a metronome-like bongo and a weary bass lope, "The Second Hand" shimmers like a languid desert sunset; as Bowes perspires in gruff whispers, Niblock appears as a shrieking banshee amongst its scenic dunes of amber violin. Painted like its nocturnal opposite, "Three Arms and a Dead Cert" is utterly eerie. Burrowing past creepy tittering children, crying babies, dissonant violin tendrils, and spectral wails, one doesn't encounter percussion for minutes. Suddenly, a subtle clicking sets in, and the piece unfolds from spine-tingling claustrophobia into a raucous mix of Wagnerian violins and blasts of brassy organs. Though far from the dance-like mechanics described above, it's nonetheless a fantastic piece of black ambience.

For 1996, Attrition truly broke ground with this album; perfectly weaving operatic wails with clinical male growls, somber strings with clockwork computers, it set the stage for many an act to follow. Some may argue that their French counterparts, Die Form carved a similar niche in the scene, yet Three Arms and a Dead Cert managed to perfect this synthesis of classical and industrial a full year in advance of their 1997 classic, Duality. In short, this is not only an album every Attrition fan should own, but it's also a defining work of the '90s era of gothic-industrial music.