#sha ru

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[d147]

[dustedmagazine]

Sha Ru — They Are Textural (Monkeytown)

Working between New York and Berlin, duo Sha Ru, singer/producer Masha and her partner Ru, make music steeped in the underground ethos of both cities. They decelerate the bpm of techno and emphasize rhythmic physicality as they explore the fluidity of gender identity so often nurtured in the clubs. Using a limited palette of electronic sounds, thumping beats and shuddering bass, the pair traverses a broad emotional range. Masha’s lightly German accented sprechgesang is high in the mix, the voice moving between robotic distance, intimate disclosure, and vehement indignation. On They Are Textural Sha Ru concentrates on using rhythm to produce timbres that reflect Masha’s lyrical narratives. The struggle for identity, the pains of rejection in being, friendship and love, the joy of personal liberation through community and at base, the seductive power of music.

“ONA” opens with a metallic shimmer of chopped vocal samples before resolving into Masha’s intonation “andere/andere/andere” (others), the bass drops deep and squelchy as she “with inhibitions in my head” observes the bodies writhing in strobe lit silhouette. You feel the process of formation, from the alienated chant to the ambivalence of the gaze reinforced by the rhythm track which stutters beneath the voice and bass. “Not Your Steps” follows a similar pattern but ups both the tempo and intensity. The bass batters against the claustrophobic atmosphere, submarine like bleeps in the background adding to the sense of entrapment, as the narrator struggles to find escape from past stigma and repression. The tone is measured in its determination to break free and at times break loose. On “Get Lost,” the defiant refrain “I get lost to get lost” is softened somewhat by the response “I’ll find us,” as the rhythm skitters around mirroring the contradictory impulses of involvement and detachment. The highlight “Crawl” shows another side of Sha Ru’s music. Beneath the main vocal line, slightly distorted and lower in the mix than what’s gone before, the music, expands and contracts like molten metal, the bass like molasses and a constant almost subliminal cacophony of voices chattering beneath. Its less a crowded club than the vicious internal voices in the aftermath of a torrid night. It leaves you with a satisfyingly uncanny sense of dread.

Andrew Forell