As we gulp down stream after stream of music online, trying to stay afloat the deluge content overload, it’s hard to appreciate the nuances of the sounds we’re consuming. London duo Raime, in this context, adopt a healthily restrained approach, mastering the art of slow-burning music. Rather plod an easy 4/4 onto your plate, their gloomy mutation of dub and post-rock presents an ominous space that can scare the living shit out of you.

With their debut full length Quarter Turns Over A Living Line, Raime created expansive clouds of noise that were anchored by live instrumentation, and under their shadowy disguise, dove deeper into post-rock, placing preference on distorted guitar drones and sparse, syncopated drums over electronics. With their sophomore Raime album Tooth, they’ve stripped it right down to bone marrow, and their sound is more physical than ever. Dead Heat’s wiry guitar slyly wriggles around a thick bass line, while the negative space pulls you deeper inside the album’s perverse undergrowth. The chilling melancholia of tracks like Front Running and Cold Cain could soundtrack introspective, ultimately hopeless November nights. There’s a suggestive restraint in each track, which wants to explode but never does, and Raimes’ prolonged tease only enriches its draw.

Aine Devaney