Newcastle noise duo Yeah You do not operate via the usual channels. They have a situationist prankster spirit about them; they’ve become notorious for their impromptu roadside gigs, improvised sets of stubborn-bugger electronics and searing vocal batterings. They are also a father-daughter duo, known as Mykl Jaxn and Elvin Brandhi, and although it’s a tad frustrating that this is commonly flagged up as the main point of intrigue, it is undeniably intriguing. After all, the rather wholesome image of a family music project isn’t the first thing that springs to mind when you hear crushing noise music.
The synergy on VHOD, recently released on the ever-stellar Alter label, is truly astounding. It’s a foul cesspit of an album, with vocals and electronics equally volatile, and an organic approach to music-making that is never over-complicated or prissy. ‘Autoimmune’ is one of the strongest examples of this improvised style; the brutish stripped-bare beat leaves ample room for the unrelenting diatribe of Elvin. She emits an series of splutters and yelps, every word and syllable is wholly elastic. On the downright terrifying ‘Brackla/Clergy’, the claustrophobia is almost palpable, with its combination of dionysian energy and heavily processed vocal warping.
The duo’s music is largely hatched during weekly trips to the supermarket, transforming the drudgery of this common chore into a platform for radical actions. Elvin has stressed how important these journeys are on both a musical and lyrical level. “A moving car is just so perfect, she told tQ’s Tristan Bath in 2016. “There’s so much to feed off the whole time, watching everything fly by."
The lyrics aren’t observational as such, they don’t directly refer to the surroundings. Rapid-fire trains of thought are triggered by her environment, and match the constant momentum of the music. Compared to krautrock’s motorik rhythm, perhaps the most effective example of music as travel, the momentum on VHOD is odd, intriguing. That sleek motorik beat went perfectly with the autobahn; Yeah You feel more appropriate to the potholed roads of Britain, in a very good way.
Yeah You remind us – through their prickly sound, through their unfamiliar familial set-up and through the spaces where they play – that traditional notions of music are forever ripe for subversion.
