During 2020, when the world was in turmoil and a lot of musicians and gig goers were feeling socially lost, KPT (pronounced “Kept”) delivered a record that felt suitably dark and befitting of the time. ‘Big Witch’ jumped between electronic genres, sharing soundscapes that blended deep drone (‘Lament’), heady beats (‘Untamed’), and even ventured into into industrial sounds (‘Second Thoughts’). The relatively minimalist album really came into its own, though, when KPT explored some wonderfully bleak soundscapes that evoked ominous sounding film scores. It wasn’t the kind of album you’d necessarily pull off the shelf every day, but within its half hour playing time, it offered some enjoyable instrumental noise when approached in the right – suitably detached – frame of mind.

Five years on, the ‘Claw’ EP is even bleaker, but certainly no less interesting. Part of the interest comes from two of the tracks taking more of an expansive approach. Whereas the bulk of ‘Big Witch’ hit the listener with short pieces – often acting as bursts of sound blending together – this EP takes in two soundscapes stretching over ten minutes. The first, ‘Dig’, opens with a fairly typical low droning sound, before introducing other elements. A grumbling tone sounds like a motorbike revving then put through distortion; a cold howl appears to be the electronic equivalent of wind cutting through an empty passageway, and a high pitched whine adds the air of a horror film soundtrack. This ambient noise repeats for over six minutes, lulling the listener in its own strange way, before descending into something even darker. The high tones continue and the howling intensifies, then at around the eight minute mark, the expected industrial tones kick in. A layer of distortion blows its way in and out, adding a drone that’s much fuller but without offering any real concession to melody. Using this to create impressive sound arcs, KPT eventually allows everything to explode into a world of noise – albeit briefly – before a new and equally frightening cold tone begins to carve out a presence. After eleven minutes, everything fades into silence; there’s no big climax, no speaker breaking intensity, no full scale sonic attack – just a feeling of wonderful unease.

At first, ‘Rip’ sounds as if it’ll follow a similar pattern, since the howling wind sound creates the heart of a dark, ambient drone and two higher tones weave in and out. However, an unsettling whooshing noise that sounds like the rolling sea being manipulated gives this a different angle. At the point where listeners might not expect this to do much more, this quietly disquieting sound is slowly dominated by an industrial drone – in part sounding like a steam train pulling to a halt, complete with squeaking brake. Everything eventually twists itself into a wholly unmelodic buzz, sounding like the more drone-centric remixes from the Melvins’ ‘Chicken Switch’. The fact that this abrasive noise continues for the better part of the next eight minutes sums up KPT’s commitment to noise/drone/dark ambient here, taking any previous experimentation to extremes.

Offering just six minutes worth of noise, the closing number of this trio of tracks is the most accessible by default. That doesn’t mean its actually easy listening in any way, of course. Those already familiar with KPT’s experiments will expect to be challenged, and on that score, ‘Tear’ doesn’t disappoint – it just makes its presence felt in a more succinct way, relatively speaking. To create the most atmospheric of introductions, a drone has been subjected to echo in such a way that the first few seconds sound like a choir of voices, before the listeners’ ears are allowed to adjust and it becomes clear that this is just another drone and not a fantastically orchestrated piece of film score. Then, having piqued interest, everything explodes into a world of the most intense industrial noise. The sound is like listening to something through a blown speaker, but listen carefully and you’ll hear the relentless, distorted noise being punctuated by an almost Morse-like rhythm. Introducing electrical noises that sound like either backwards screams or mangled crickets – depending where they fall against the noise – KPT adds an extra layer of interest, without resorting to even the vaguest of melodies. Returning to the weird “steam train” noise, the rhythm increases, but the cold feel remains, until it’s decided that everyone has been assaulted just enough…and everything stops dead. This is wonderfully ugly, and representation of KPT at their most obtuse.

‘Claw’ has parallels with prior KPT works, but the extended arrangements and even denser sounds present something that’s even less accessible than before. In a world filled with all kinds of music, there’s time enough for this hugely unmelodic soundscape, of course, and if you’ve ever had any passing interests in Coil or Lustmord, then this – wonderfully ugly as it can be – will be for you.

May 2025