Magneto is a a Polish jazz-rock trio consisting of Hubert Zemler, Piotr Domagalski, and Bartek Tyciński. They’ve been pigeonholed as essentially an instrumental surf rock band (which is partially their own doing) but there is so much more to the band and their sound than simply a more technically savvy reimagining of Dick Dale’s repertoire. A lot of what you will hear on their debut album Requiem pour Satana is reminiscent of the cinematic and aesthetic qualities of the most recent El Michels Affair album Yeti Season. Not surprising as both bands see fit to combine South American rhythms with Turkish funk. Beyond such apt comparisons though, it is worth noting that Magneto has a unique and eclectic aura that distinguishes them from their peers in the world of international jazz. A lot of the sounds that they are combining shouldn’t work together, but somehow still adhere in to a coherent and euphonious listening experience.
What is especially magnificent about Magneto is that while their music is easy on the ears, it’s far from a superfluous listen. Something that I attribute to not only the catchy compositions they’ve crafted but also the slightly tart quality of their guitar tones, an aspect that accommodates a sense of the uncanny. The band’s journey of forbidden fruit finding begins with “Pama Rum Kwan” a lonesome, Thai-surf flavored splash of salt and tears. The next track “La Rumbia en Blanco y Negro” threads Turkish-inspired chords through Brazillian bongo beats to produce a slightly sticky traipse of galloping rhythms and curiously textured grooves.
Instrumental surf rock hasn’t been go-to for rock enthusiasts since at least the early ’60s, and while it was somewhat revived during the ’90s, this revisionist revival seemed to focus more on the genre’s overlap with rockabilly. A fact that made it feel like an afterthought and incomplete in its appreciation. It’s therefore very cool to hear Magneto reach back to the central American origins of the genre with cool little, mid-afternoon cantina jammers like”Mambolero” and filter these dusty-boarder walking chords through numbers as mysterious as the witchy, spur-clattery trance, scuff and slither of the title-track, which feels like it is attempting to entice your soul out of your body with a heavy-lidded gaze. It’s a number with a snake-like charm which “Danse Exotique d’un Amant Timide” also mimics. “Die Turkfunken” is an admirable Chicano soul indebted bop, while closer “MIkołaj” plants itself squarely on the California coast with a homemade satellite dish, attempting to intercept messages from interstellar beings. Requiem pour Satana is a strangely transportive record that is worth your time today.
You can stream the entiry of this brilliant album below via Bandcamp:
Buy Requiem pour Satana on CD here.
