Clock DVA:: Buried Dreams (WaxTrax, 1990)
There was a rumour going around for a while that this album was on the stereo when the police raided Jeffrey Dahmer’s home. I’ve always doubted this, because, even if it was on the stereo, who would have known what it was? Nonetheless, there’s a reason why that rumour started: because there is no album in recorded history that would have more appropriately captured the mix of the erotic, the macabre and the deviant that was Dahmer’s mind.
Clock DVA had started as an interesting but not particularly exceptional electronic band in the eighties, but had lain dormant for a few years prior to releasing this album on Chicago’s WaxTrax label. In the interim, their membership had changed (which it would again in their later career) and their sound had become moodier, darker, unsettling.
While most bands were using their newly purchased samplers to snag catchy spots from televangelists, Clock DVA turned their attention to assembling collages ripe with sensuality and fear, without ever moving beyond the realm of innuendo.
When it is remembered at all, this album is usually unfairly dismissed as being too light by “aficionados” of darker music, a judgment that could only result from a) not hearing the album and making an assessment based on the label that released it or b) giving the album only a cursory listen.
In addition to being one of the creepiest releases ever recorded, Buried Dreams is also surprisingly forward looking. The Hacker one of the singles from the album, dealt with the subject f CIA harassment (and murder) of young computer experts before most of us had heard of the internet.