The Pelican Curse by Ross Fish: A Weird, Hypnotic Trip You Didn’t Know You Needed
Alright, let’s get this straight—Ross Fish’s The Pelican Curse isn’t your run-of-the-mill electronic album. Released in 2015 under Bridgetown Records (yeah, that little gem from the US), it dives headfirst into ambient and minimal vibes like a dude who just discovered meditation but still can’t sit still for more than five minutes. And honestly? That chaotic serenity is what makes it stick.
First off, you’ve got tracks like “Where” and “Flown,” which are basically earworms for people who hate catchy hooks. “Where” starts off all quiet and brooding, like someone whispering secrets into an empty room. It builds so slowly you almost forget it’s playing—until BAM! The synths kick in, cold and sharp, like shards of ice slicing through fog. This track doesn’t beg for attention; it demands it. By the time it fades out, you’re left staring at your speaker like, "What the hell just happened?"
Then there’s “Flown.” Oh man, this one’s sneaky as hell. At first, it feels like background noise, something you’d hear while waiting for your coffee order. But then these weird little glitches creep in—tiny stutters in the beat that feel like they shouldn’t work but somehow do. It’s unsettling yet satisfying, like scratching a scab even though you know you shouldn’t. By the end, you realize you’ve been zoning out for ten minutes, lost in its hypnotic mess.
The rest of the album follows suit—tracks with names like “Hath,” “To,” and even a literal question mark (“?”) keep things cryptic and kinda pretentious, but not in a bad way. It’s like Ross Fish is daring you to figure him out, throwing curveballs without ever explaining himself. Tracks like “Love” and “Dwell” have moments that sound warm and almost human, only to pull the rug out from under you with some icy detachment. It’s infuriatingly good.
Here’s the thing about The Pelican Curse: it’s not trying to be accessible or mainstream or whatever buzzword critics throw around these days. Hell no. It’s moody, experimental, and unapologetically strange. Some might call it boring, but those folks probably wouldn’t last two minutes in a conversation with me either. If you dig music that challenges you instead of spoon-feeding you sugar-coated beats, this is your jam.
So yeah, I’ll leave you with this: Listening to The Pelican Curse feels like wandering through a dark forest at night, unsure if you’re gonna find enlightenment or just trip over a root and faceplant. Either way, it’s worth it. Now go listen to it—or don’t. Who am I kidding? You probably won’t anyway.
