Album Review: Iron by CoH – A Sonic Puzzle That Still Confuses and Captivates
Alright, let’s talk about Iron by CoH. Released back in 2000 (yeah, Y2K was still freaking everyone out), this Swedish gem is one of those albums that feels like it crawled out of some alternate dimension where techno and ambient music had a baby, but then they raised it on experimental vibes instead of lullabies. Genre-wise? It’s all over the place—avant-garde, electronic, ambient techno, minimal, abstract… you name it. But honestly, none of those labels fully capture what makes this thing tick.
First off, kudos to Ivan Pavlov for writing and recording this beast. And props to Sergey Provorov for the artwork—it’s as weirdly hypnotic as the music itself. The album came out on Wavetrap, which might not mean much now, but back then, it felt like a secret handshake into an underground scene most people didn’t even know existed.
Now, onto the tracks. There are some real standouts here, but two stuck with me long after I hit stop: “Spiegel I M Spiegel” and “For Whom The Dell Falls.” Let’s break ‘em down.
“Spiegel I M Spiegel” kicks things off with this eerie, glitchy vibe that sounds like your computer trying to dream. It’s got these little skips and stutters, almost like it’s unsure if it wants to be a song or just a broken machine. But somehow, it works. Like, really works. You can tell Pavlov wasn’t just making beats—he was building a mood. Listening to it feels like walking through a museum at night when no one else is around. Creepy? Sure. But also kinda beautiful.
Then there’s “For Whom The Dell Falls,” which—I swear—is named after someone dropping their phone in a ravine. Kidding! Sorta. This track is slower, more deliberate. It builds up layer by layer until it feels like you’re drowning in sound, but in the best way possible. There’s something haunting about it, like it knows a secret you’ll never figure out. Every time I hear it, I get lost in my own head, thinking about random stuff like why we bother naming clouds or whether aliens would find our music cool or totally baffling.
The rest of the album keeps that same energy—tracks like “East.Er.Okay.Hell” and “Annum Per Annum [Pärt 2]” throw curveballs left and right, mixing techno bangers with moments so quiet you start wondering if your headphones died. Honestly, it’s exhausting in the best way.
Looking back, Iron isn’t perfect. Some parts feel messy, like Pavlov couldn’t decide between chaos or clarity. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe life itself is messy, and this album’s just holding up a mirror (pun intended). Or maybe I’m overthinking it because I listened to “Spiegel” too many times in a row.
Either way, Iron is one of those records that stays with you—not because it’s catchy or easy to love, but because it refuses to let go. It’s like that weird friend who says bizarre things at parties but somehow always ends up being the most interesting person in the room.
Final thought? If aliens ever invade Earth, I hope they land in Sweden, find this album, and think twice about conquering us. Because if they don’t run away screaming, they might stick around to ask questions. And hey, isn’t that what great art’s supposed to do?
