MESS AND NOISE by Adam D Mills
http://www.messandnoise.com/releases/2000131

Like the faded, eerie photographs of mysterious origin that adorn its cover, there’s something sinister about the self-titled debut from Sydney’s Dead China Doll. It might have something to do with the abundance of funeral minor key melodies, and the way they’re never allowed to settle into conventional songwriting patters. It might also be due to the band’s (barely) controlled use of ear-splitting feedback – there’s something about a record that sounds like it consciously wants to cause you permanent hearing damage that’s a mite unsettling. And it’s most certainly helped along by vocalist Edwin Sheather’s range – from tortured shriek to haunting falsetto – and abstract, surrealist lyrical bent. If these five tracks are anything to go by, Sheather’s one fucked up dude. We’re just lucky – in more ways than one – that he’s chosen to channel this into Dead China Doll.

Musically, there are hints of everything from June of 44 and The Jesus Lizard to Swans and Godspeed You! Black Emperor here. It’s noisy, but it’s not noise rock. It’s heavy, but it’s not metal. It’s post-something, but probably not rock. Songs are constructed as towering, multipart epics (most clocking in at around 10 minutes), and are loaded with the kind of melodramatic pacing favoured by bands such as Explosions in the Sky, without the pay-off of cathartic crescendos; all tension, no release. Even at their quietest – the pretty cello/guitar interplay on the charmingly-titled ‘Face Fuckers Unite for AIDS’, for example – there’s a malicious underpinning to the music that keeps it from ever truly feeling

All this malevolence reaches its nadir (or zenith, depending on your point of view) on ‘Rejoice in the Pangs of Conscience’/’Lie or Move Abjectly on the Ground with One’s Face Downward’, a bleak dirge that is dragged to Lynchian depths of depravity via the addition of Anthony Sandrin’s noir-ish saxophone. From there, the group gleefully strangle what little life is left in the album with the elongated, torturous (in the best possible way) ‘We Lost Our Souls to Rock ‘n’ Roll that was Fucked in the Ass by a Corporate Kind of Satan’, leaving nothing behind but a feedback-scarred carcass.

It’s not an easy listen, this record. And it’s certainly not for everybody. But if you’ve ever slowed down at a car crash, prodded roadkill with a stick or pulled the wings off a still-living fly, you maybe should check Dead China Doll out.

by Adam D Mills

POLAROIDS OF ANDROIDS by Jonny
http://polaroidsofandroids.com/record-reviews/dead-china-doll-dead-china-doll/159.html

Dead China Doll have always existed under the radar. In fact, even to get my hands on this album I had to get a phone number from a friend and then rendezvous with the bass guitarist at his work. The band seem most comfortable dwelling in the shadows, with their commercially unacceptable song titles, the often drawn-out soundscapes and non-linear arrangements making them the kind of group that you are unlikely to hear overplayed on your local radio station anytime soon.

The music, separated into five tracks that span in duration from six-and-a-half minutes to a whopping eleven minute epic, is probably too intense for anything more than a single serving per day. The track breaks are completely irrelevant as well, given that it's impossible to imagine this record not being listened to from start-to-finish as a single body of work.

The unconventional path this record takes is powered primarily by it's complete lack of familiar structure. The disjointed 45 minute journey continually sparks off into numerous different directions at once, without any care as to how it plans to make it to it's destination, or even return to where it all began. It's this central ideal of throwing caution to the wind, creating songs that revel in their broken song arrangements and musical wandering, that makes this such an enjoyable slab of music.

The epic nature of the record is not only achieved through the stretched length of each of the songs, but also the injection of orchestral elements alongside the thrashing of guitars and pounding rhythm patterns. It adds an emotional side to the music, which if not utilised would leave the songs sounding a little too much like theatrical prog-rock jam sessions.

This battle between the gentle use of cello and the smashing of punk riffs is also part of the album's most effective weapon - contrast. The quiet moments are required just as much as the thunderous climaxes. The ear-bleeding screeches of guitar snuggle up next to piano loops and pounding drum lines in a confusing, yet completely natural way. At times the landscape is stark and baron, while in the very next instance it's an over-crowded palette of ideas, all fighting to be heard and recognised. It rarely stays on one theme too long, but in the same regard pulls a lot of it's strength from the control of the sounds and the way in which each piece of music builds to various points of either climatic joy or bone rattling terror.

It's doubtful the band realise it, but this album is part of a much larger picture - an emerging, gutter dwelling sub-genre of Australian music where Dead China Doll find themselves as the Sydney representatives. Much like Witch Hats, Spider Vomit and Snowman, Dead China Doll paint a dark picture with scattered moments of brightness creating a fantastic antithesis of ideas and sounds. This isn't the smoothest journey, but it's definitely rewarding and worthy of your time. I can't imagine any other Sydney group releasing such an engrossing and unbelievably powerful record this year.

Words by Jonny.