Vinyl LP, Compact Disc (CD)
Semiotics Department of Heteronyms (SDH) describe their songs as “cruelly sexy electronic music,” and on on Fake is Real, they’re true to their word. Following Maybe a Body, their darkwave EP from 2022, the Barcelona duo of Andrea P. Latorre and Sergi Algiz reach beyond the predictability of a singular genre and into an unbridled dance delirium. This is in part due to SDH’s recruitment of the EBM megastar Kris Baha, who produced and mixed the album, elevating the project’s sound into one with an acute awareness of space and precision. Each song is full of the things Baha is known for: monstrous industrial drums alongside quick-witted percussive touches that seem to add infinite depth. The result is a soundtrack for the blackest corners of the club, ones where the fog sits heavy and reeks of cigarettes, sweat, and chemicals.
Fake is Real feeds upon anxiety, and album opener “Balance” makes that obvious from the jump. With ominous pads that nod to the psychedelic electronics of industrial greats, Coil (the track is named after the late John Balance, after all), and sustained notes that swim unsteadily beneath undulating elements of ‘90s trance. It’s intentionally uncomfortable. As speedy EBM music made for techno clubs—or perhaps the other way around—”Denial” wallows in tension. “What is this trick?” asks Latorre, “Tell me what you’re hiding.” Her lyrics throughout fixate on the things that are concealed rather than what is seen, and she’s unable to trust others or, more terrifyingly, herself.
The lush, melancholic darkwave of “Talk in Dreams” and “Hollowed Out” recall SDH’s previous work. Both songs are pillars of tenderness, the gracefulness of which act in direct opposition to the severity of the rest of the album. On “Cellular Sky,” SDH takes the route of goth-doused synthpop, à la Tobias Bernstrup, before jerking into the acidic bumping bass of “Do I Look Like I’m Laughing?” Here, Latorre matches the blasé singsong cadence of Miss Kittin and The Hacker’s electroclash hit, “Frank Sinatra”—except on way harder drugs. And Baha’s influence is most clearly felt on “Our Fear,” where EBM basslines simmer atop sweltering, moody pads.
The album builds up to the unsteady precipice of its final song, “Hectic,” which, with its sense of foreboding and dramatic romance, feels like something out of a Gaspar Noé nightmare. “Can’t you see we’re burning?” Latorre sings, “The flames will give way to the morning/ You don’t care about the wreckage.” Heavy kicks wallop beneath techno patterns that screech in anguish for a reprieve that is never granted. With all its subtleties and intricate complexities, Fake is Real tells the saga of the dancefloor: The insatiable highs, the comedowns, and the absolute unknowns. It is music best devoured in the dark.
