Not quite sure if it's good or bad but hey... I got a review
Schmange – Phase IV Chronicles – Self-released (www.schmange.com)
Our Rating: 84 out of 100
Albums described with phrases like “Hard-edged techno guitar rock” tend to go one of two ways, and it’s usually not the pretty one. And so it was with no little trepidation that I approached this rather uninspiring-looking, rain-smudged pair of CD-Rs skulking forlornly at the bottom of a pile of glitzy, professionally produced recordings. If I have to listen to one more bedroom Satriani, I swear I’m going to do a Van Gogh. On both sides. Believe me, I was in no hurry to listen to this one. But the truth of it is, this really isn’t bad at all. Certainly it’s self-indulgent, and the only sporadic provision of vocals for a whole two CDs’ worth can be a little trying. To make matters worse, Schmange is a publisher of advanced guitar techniques on a tuition website.
But, in his favour, this one-man-band is far more Dave Gilmour than Yngwie Malmsteen, and his production skills are really very impressive. The upshot is a 29-track marathon with a post-Floyd, post-Vai, even post-Moby feel that is often sparse, occasionally haunting, sometimes beautiful, tedious at times, exciting in places and very, very long. As a self-released project, Phase IV Chronicles perhaps suffers a little from the lack of the editorial input that would have been provided by a label. I personally would have looked at cutting this down to a single CD length, tightening the focus a little in the process. That said, as the industry edges increasingly away from the album format toward the downloadable single, it is nice to hear something this complete, with all its idiosyncratic weaknesses still intact.
When it hits the right notes, this really is an impressive piece of work. The occasional vocals, when they happen, are remarkably reminiscent of Bowie at his more detached, particularly around his Low period. In fact, this album as a whole bears many of the hallmarks of Bowie’s least vocal work and while it fails to capture the human soul in electronic form to quite the same extent, it nonetheless takes the brave step of exploring the same territory, succeeding in part if not entirely. In addition, the post-Waters Pink Floyd feel of tracks like Signals is welcome, if only because so few artists have attempted to revisit Gilmour’s achingly sanitized, hollow-shelled alienation-rock vision, a sound that feels so relevant at the moment that it’s a wonder it isn’t ubiquitous.
