Crever’s Konstruktivist: A Raw, Industrial Pulse That Stays With You
Let me just say this upfront—Crever’s Konstruktivist is not your average electronic album. Released in 2016 under the Dutch label Gruis, it's an industrial beast with acid-tinged fangs and techno legs that won’t quit. Joey Beentjes, the mastermind behind Crever, delivers something here that feels like a punch to the gut but also kinda makes you wanna dance while clutching your ribs. It's messy, raw, and utterly unforgettable.
The title track, "Konstruktivist," slaps you awake right from the start. It’s all jagged synths and pounding beats, like someone took a hammer to a circuit board and somehow made music out of the chaos. Listening to it feels like standing too close to machinery—you can almost smell the oil and hear the grinding gears. But weirdly enough, there's beauty in its brutality. The rhythm twists and turns, never letting you get comfortable, but damn if it doesn’t pull you deeper every time. I kept replaying this one because it felt alive—like it had a heartbeat buried beneath layers of distortion.
Then there’s "Mecánico (Live At SOTU Festival 2016)"—holy crap, what a ride. This live version brings the energy up tenfold. There’s something about hearing the crowd noise bleed into the mix; it’s gritty and real, no polish or pretense. The bassline hits so hard it could rattle teeth, and the acid squelches are sharp enough to cut glass. Honestly, it’s less of a song and more of an experience—one where you feel like you're part of some secret underground ritual. If Konstruktivist was a machine, then “Mecánico” is its engine revving at full throttle, daring you to keep up.
This album isn’t perfect—it doesn’t try to be. Tracks like "Program 2 (Live At Polyphonic Cosmos 2016)" showcase a slightly different vibe, leaning heavier on atmospheric textures than relentless beats. But even when it slows down, it still feels intentional, like Beentjes knows exactly how far he can push you before pulling back.
What sticks with me most about Konstruktivist isn’t just the sound—it’s the feeling. Listening to it feels dangerous, like sneaking into an abandoned factory late at night and finding it pulsing with life. You know you shouldn’t stay, but you can’t leave either.
And honestly? I think Joey Beentjes might’ve built a monster here. One that refuses to sit quietly in the background. One that demands attention, sweat, and maybe even a little fear. So if you’re looking for easy listening, look elsewhere. But if you want an album that bites back, crank this up loud. Just don’t blame me if your neighbors call the cops.
