[sic] Magazine

Nunun – Nunun

nunun are an Italian duo, improvising guitar and electronic music. The emphasis might be on the word ‘improvise’. If such things pique your interest, then nunun’s shifting, propulsive melange of avant jazz and post-rock might be worth investigating. On the flip side, if the idea of lack of discernible patterns or melodies is off-putting, then this record was never going to change that.

Modern jazz can be anarchic. Tracks go all over the place and there are no rules to even break. Apart from landmark works like Miles Davis Sketches Of Spain, I find the genre to be admirable but off-putting. In the most simplistic of terms, I enjoy listening to music. I don’t often enjoy listening to modern jazz and I didn’t enjoy nunun. Hi hats and electric guitar doodles are all very well, in places, but sustained 69 minutes of aimless fret wandering and crashing start to wear thin very quickly. On this album, irritation sets in half way through the third track (‘ice69’) and never really let’s up afterwards. We’re in this for the long haul. Be prepared for a bumpy, nauseating ride.

Let’s look for some mitigating factors. I mentioned third track ‘ice69’ as the onset of my excruciation. Does this mean that opening pair ‘felk’ and ‘klim’ fare better. They do. In my humble, honest opinion there are the seeds of something interesting going on there. Hints of Durutti Column, allusions of Talk Talk – reference points for me to get something of a foothold. Not enough.

It is very rare for me to hate anything when it comes to music promos. Bands usually put their heart into their work. You can hear it and you can at the very least, imagine how and why certain people might enjoy it even if it isn’t to your own personal taste. Disappointing then to admit I detested nunun by the half way point and the album did nothing thereafter to haul me out of my misery. Improvisation, as mentioned, is skilful and to be admired, but by definition, also aimless and pointless. This album is an atonal, oblique dirge. No amount of head-scratching on my behalf is going to alter the fact that this was one of the most abysmal hours of listening I have had the misfortune of undertaking since La Société des Timides à la Parade des Oiseaux. You have been more than warned.