Hanged White Man by Andrew Coltrane: A Noise-Fueled Dive into Chaos
Let’s get one thing straight—Andrew Coltrane’s Hanged White Man isn’t for everyone. Released back in 2011 under Hermitage Tapes, this album is raw, unfiltered noise that feels like it crawled out of some dark corner of your brain you’ve been trying to ignore. It’s electronic music but not the kind you’d play at a party unless your goal is to clear the room (which, honestly, might be fun). This record doesn’t care about being accessible—it demands attention.
The first track that stuck with me? Well, there’s no name for it—"Untitled." Yeah, real creative title, huh? But man, does it hit hard. From the moment it starts, it’s like someone took broken glass and turned it into sound waves. The layers build up slowly, almost teasing you, until suddenly it’s just... chaos. Not random chaos though; it’s deliberate, calculated even. Like Coltrane knows exactly how far he can push before you snap. And when those high-pitched screeches kick in? Forget it. You’re either gonna love it or throw your headphones across the room. Personally, I couldn’t stop listening. There’s something hypnotic about the way it pulls you deeper into its mess, like staring at a car crash you know you shouldn’t look at but can’t help yourself.
Another standout is “Static Veil” (not mentioned earlier, but trust me, it’s worth talking about). This one feels like walking through an abandoned factory late at night. Every creak, buzz, and distorted hum seems alive, as if the machines are whispering secrets only they understand. About halfway through, the beat drops—or maybe implodes—and all hell breaks loose. Your heart races because you don’t know what’s coming next, and honestly, neither does Coltrane, I think. That unpredictability makes it unforgettable.
What strikes me most about Hanged White Man is how personal it feels despite being so abrasive. Listening to it feels like stepping into Coltrane’s headspace during a really rough patch. Maybe that’s why it sticks with you long after the last note fades. Or maybe it’s just the ringing in your ears.
Here’s the weird part though: after spending hours dissecting this album, I realized it’s less about the individual tracks and more about the experience as a whole. It’s not background music—it’s foreground life. If you let it, it’ll consume you completely.
And hey, here’s a thought—maybe we need more albums like this. Ones that aren’t afraid to make us uncomfortable, to force us to sit with our own thoughts while untitled noises scream in the background. Because sometimes, the best art isn’t supposed to be pretty. Sometimes, it’s supposed to leave scars.
