Martin Sane loves the number eight. We already knew that, as there are two of them in the name of his project, Fïx8:Sëd8. Eight is cool, it sounds like "hate" but mostly the word “night” in quite a few Indo-European languages: acht/nacht, huit/nuit, otto/notte, ocho/noche, and even in Latin with octo/noctis, and in Persian with hasht/nashj! Could there be an international linguistic conspiracy which, bearing in mind that eight is also a symbol of infinity, implies that an eternal night is about to descend upon the world? Sorry to disappoint you, but it's actually just a coincidence specific to certain language families... Nevertheless, Octagram revolves around the number eight: eight tracks lasting around eight minutes each. Please forget our previous ramblings: Fïx8:Sëd8 reminds us that eight is indeed a symbol of infinity, a concept used by organized religions to control and frighten the masses.
We already know Martin Sane's taste for tortuous electronic nightmares inherited from Skinny Puppy (of which he is one of the most notable descendants, right down to his live performances), Frontline Assembly, and Velvet Acid Christ, and the artist pushes the envelope a little further with Octagram. Without forgetting the catchy melodies and rhythms, he has set himself the challenge of adopting a more progressive approach, taking advantage of the length of the tracks to better lose us.
So let's take the time to wander through the synthetic mists of The Unborn, which gradually hypnotizes us with its samples. There's something psychedelic about the layering; you don't listen to Fïx8:Sëd8 as some random background playlist. You have to devote yourself fully to it, letting yourself be carried away by a good three minutes of preamble before Martin Sane's sinister voice begins to chant in an atmosphere of cyberpunk religious ritual. It pulses enough to make our bodies respond, but there is something spiritual and disturbing about the music. His gloomy diction and voice, which sounds like a robt who'd have downed a can of acid à la Nivek Ogre, guide us through the album, serving as both a reference point to hold on to and a grotesque monster grimacing in the night.
The samples used are often the last words of death row inmates. Octagram is therefore an album literally haunted by ghosts, their deeds, and their ends. Even when this is not the case, as in Lesson in Humility, which quotes the film The Brain from Planet Arous (a sample you may have already heard in Tiamat's Lucy, for example), the tone remains both sinister and mystical, evocative of a hypothetical “afterlife.” Death haunts Octagram, and the synth pads also create brighter, contemplative pauses that add contrast and depth. However, this does not reassure us, as their sacred connotation seems ironic and out of step with the anxiety that permeates the entire album.
We travel through different hallucinatory landscapes, different textures. We shiver with the chilling Blisters, whose music contrasts with the intensity of the last words of Kelsey Patterson, who was sentenced to death and executed more than ten years after his trial in 2004, despite his mental illness: “Give me my life back,” he screams with rage and despair. Heading towards infinity with a peaceful mind? Yeah, right! The horror that creeps in here is very real, and the tone hardens fairly regularly (the horrific coldness of the melody in New Eden, which Suicide Commando would appreciate, the rhythm of Tyrants, the vociferous Oathbreaker) to keep the listener in a constant state of discomfort. Although Octagram leaves room for introspection, it maintains a tension and a permanent threat that is all the more unpredictable because the directions taken by the tracks are difficult to predict. It is impossible to meditate serenely, between despair, resignation, distress, and the terrifying joyless laughters that regularly arise.
Four years after The Inevitable Relapse, Fïx8:Sëd8 offers us an ambitious work, both thematically and in form (it's nearly 70 minutes long). Octagram is not a trivial album: it demands nothing less than our soul and our total commitment. It may not promise you eternity, but it twists and bends time, playing with our perception. It is sometimes said that ghosts are traces of particularly strong emotions. Octagram is full of them, a veritable ghost ship floating in the cold immensity of the void, which we approach knowing the risk of getting lost there for eternity.
