My review: IAMNOONE – A primitive trinitas

Iamnoone – A primitive trinitas


My review

Here they are, two flashes come with distant and different stories, two human braziers, they arrive to take up residence in our hearts, they come to their debut album and they are ice with a glass of Grappa and splinters of darkness, a sidereal and magnetic race with a frosty face and a scarf made of Coldwave with a Darkwave cloak that study, approach, sniff each other but don’t fight: they are dances, ritual suggestions and sexual intercourses with few pauses and tensions in abundance.

Philippe ( already known for his Marlat ) and Seth meet and from their silent glances fraught with being musicians in the midst of shadows and madness they are able to wrap our never satiated need of Siberia, of crazy winds and echoes of a dilated wave that lands between Coldwave and Darkwave but does not stop, because it doesn’t want to attach itself to the weakness of conventions and genre limitations, after sips of courage and voluminous unconsciousness it builds an igloo made of ten songs where we find shelter among breathless runs, which generate as a consequence a breath in need of comfort in a little restorative warmth.

And then here I am, as a scribe enchanted by the icy draughts of their swarming, diving into these 10 ice cubes in voluminous expansion.


The race starts with the wind and a guitar bringing us the 80s with a cold but sensual voice, for an emerging primitiveness.

A fading memory

The rhythm remains the same but everything thickens and by now we are freezing, guitar and keyboards are playing and we go back to recognising Philippe’s singing for his past in Marlat. The bass becomes a rhythmic blanket, and the guitar brings out colours and memories.

Solve et Coagula

And here everything comes to be majestic, it can be for the search of the philosopher’s stone, it can be for a syncopated bass taking us in its density, for vocals becoming a mantra and shamanic, for precise and essential keyboards and for the guitars taking the best part of The Cure and going down ready and surgical in our veins.

My last answer

Here the game changes, the seriousness comes from a darker beginning and then bass keyboards and drums, reporting for duty in the ice, bring us a song reminding us of the never forgotten Neon, but then they write their raison d’être in a tune that is their passport, a wonderful track, and the closure to the world leads them into the igloo.


A start as a suspension of life and then off, the man who gets hurt and derails, Hopeless is a killer bass overtaking keyboards and the essential guitar, despite the loaded rhythm, we get stuck in the ice. Mysterious, gloomy: a new heavy pain takes our breath away, wonderful song.


Here we are perhaps facing the masterpiece of the album: I look for the words to describe it, I find needles, hammers, scratches, crampons and metal strings, I sink into an atmosphere that paralyzes me, keyboards and guitar like liquid ice greeting the 80s for an identity that now becomes complete, a definitive Coldwave with a bass plotting madness and we have the perception that this is their maturity as they face the worst out there, outside the igloo.


And here we cry: poignant melody, dry essential generous, sticky and almost silent suction cup, another trace of infinite beauty is ready to glide on our instincts and with their broken wings will join you like decisive magnets.


And here we suddenly warm a bit, despite everything, we are out of the igloo uncontrollably listening to this jewel, but something seems to become a series of flames warming us.

Within the light

Now we know their style, their skills, the musical genres they are imbued with and we can better enjoy their subtle sensuality, but also their auditory power that doesn’t need distorted and thunderous sounds to be an uncontrollable detonator.

Pure ice

And for the conclusion of the album everything slows down: it seems a goodbye a little more than five minutes long, where the fast rhythm is not given by drums in a 4/4 beat or a bass nervous as a slingshot, but by a melancholic dance, which gives us the ghosts of The Cure and Joy Division, reporting for duty on their hearts, obedient, they are synthesized in a gloomy and powerful song, guitar and bass that elevate us in our Siberia, after leaving the igloos, killer chimes of keyboards freezing us again and vocals becoming full of melancholy, a tear frozen forever.

Alex Dematteis

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