Enemaths by Naal Stayn: A Sonic Puzzle That Refuses to Be Solved
Alright, buckle up. If you’re looking for an album that feels like it was born in a smoky Parisian basement but somehow teleported through space and time, Enemaths by Naal Stayn is your ticket. Released in 2016 under Self Sufficient Records (because who needs other people when you're this talented?), this French gem blends jazz, rock, krautrock, experimental chaos, art rock flair, and just enough shoegaze fuzz to make your headphones feel guilty about their previous relationships.
Naal Stayn? Yeah, they’re the wizard behind everything—playing instruments, tweaking sounds, engineering, producing, even slapping together the artwork. It’s almost annoying how much one person can do without breaking a sweat. Almost.
Now, onto the tracks. There are nine of them, each weirder than the last, but two stood out like sore thumbs—or maybe happy ones. First up, “Laughers That Fall.” This track hits you with a groovy bassline so hypnotic you’ll forget what year it is. Then come these haunting whispers layered over crunchy guitars, like someone left David Lynch’s dreams on shuffle. You remember this song because it doesn’t let go. It lingers, creeping into your thoughts days later while you’re trying to figure out why your toast tastes funny.
Then there’s “Jaaz,” which—I kid you not—sounds like Miles Davis got into a bar fight with Can and both walked away as friends. The brass punches hard, but the rhythm section keeps things grounded enough to stop you from spiraling into full-on existential dread. Or maybe that’s just me. Either way, it's catchy as hell and makes you want to strut down the street like you own the place—even if you don’t.
The rest of the album follows suit: “Surgicall” buzzes with mechanical precision, “Ashes Of Lorr” drips melancholy like rain on a broken window, and “Halt Process”… well, good luck figuring that one out. Honestly, every track has its own little quirks, making the whole thing feel less like an album and more like a collection of secret messages only you can decode.
What’s wild about Enemaths is how unapologetically DIY it feels. Sure, Naal Stayn could’ve phoned it in after mastering half the skills needed to pull this off, but nope—they went all-in. And yet, despite being such a solo effort, the album never feels lonely. It’s chaotic, yes, but also strangely warm, like finding an old sweater you forgot you loved.
So here’s the kicker: Listening to Enemaths isn’t always easy. Sometimes it’s messy, sometimes it’s confusing, and sometimes it feels like your brain is getting rewired mid-song. But isn’t that kinda beautiful? Isn’t life itself just a jumble of noises we try to piece together? Maybe that’s why this record sticks—it reminds us that perfection is overrated and weirdness is where the magic happens.
Oh, and fun fact: I still have no idea what “Enemaths” means. Probably something deep. Or maybe Naal Stayn just liked how it sounded. Who cares? Just press play already.
