Dyskrasia (Ancient Greek for “bad-mixture”) arrives with a name that reads like a proclamation lifted from a half-burned vellum scroll, and the music carries that same sense of sanctioned imbalance. This Atlanta trio of Gabby, Jessi, and Chuck sounds as if they’ve been sealed in a room stocked to the gills with ancient medicine, flickering candles, dusty tomes of forgotten wisdom, and a stack of broken machines humming in sympathy. Their latest offering, Time Doesn’t, from their upcoming album For Humor, moves with patient menace, minimalist but loaded, every element placed with the care of a ritual rather than a rehearsal.
The interplay between voices feels like an invocation. Male and female lines circle each other in low tones, trading phrases as if reciting fragments of an old rite. There’s disciplined intimacy, whispered through clenched calm, secrets passed through a forbidden gate. The restraint sharpens the effect: nothing spills, everything simmers, and the calm repetitive chant pulls you inward.
Synth figures carry an esoteric flavour, scales that suggest distant deserts and forgotten ceremonies, threading through rigid, Motorik drumming that gives a pulse for the whole spell. Hushed vocals drift across the beat like incense smoke curling through a dim room, steady and unsettling at once.
Dyskrasia echoes the ceremonial poise of Switchblade Symphony, the devotional gravity of Dead Can Dance, the early austerity of Human League, and the clinical curiosity of Cabaret Voltaire, yet it seeks something beyond genre and influences. This song functions as a controlled séance—an opening of space where the room darkens and movement gains meaning. For a few minutes, their “bad mixture” is shaped into a captivating sound—marking the start of a subtle recalibration.
Listen to Time Doesn’t below, out not via Certain Fate Records, and preorder For Humor here.
Follow Dyskrasia:
The post Atlanta’s Dyskrasia Unveils Haunting Post-Industrial Invocation “Time Doesn’t” appeared first on Post-Punk.com.
