The Sun ain't gonna shine any more. Midnight or Noontide, dead time is here to stay. The moment has come to call it a day. We can hear the bells ringing all over. It's the point of transgression into the zero hour. Shedding human skin. The key is reproduced - we're desperately seeking for the gate. Learning to dream with electric eyes. Striving for control over the demons of chaos that never sleep. You can't bargain with the invisible: what you see is what you get. Any conscious your dreaming may become, you must be killed by a bull first to end it. The labor camp is here where the awake walk. The territory we defend. The problem with parallel worlds is that they give no shelter. They belong to infinity better be left alone. One dimension's enough for all of us that only want to leave their shadows behind. The door of perception opens inwards. The inner war cannot be won. Life is good but the only thing that matters is an elegant departure. On the wings of superstition if you are a Goth. 

Once contrived the perfect formula of tyranny, there's no reason to search for a better one. It's no game to experiment under the volcano. You'd better pack your bag. The Treverend is a pro who could do no wrong any hard he tried. His world is quite unparalleled in today's essential scenery. MidCon is postindustrial gothmetal by definition but there's more to the echo than meets the ear. There's this militant fanatism of artificial ignorance to it that makes the noise sound like alarm in the middle of the endless night. Though both harsher and smarter than before, �Parallel Worlds� is a lot like another regular report about the state of noble decay - and who could ask for more. The analogous machine delivers its new goods with no change in the operating principle. Loyal to his loyals. It's a haunted record from the first track to the last, heroically prolonging the fall of the corroded subculture. Frankly, it could be the re-recording of an early demo. This act is not walking the usual path of gradual evolution. They go for the depths. Once ready - always ready. Evil rules. 

Despite the increased distortion of the field, the latest effort is a typical neither-neither disc adjacent to its own distinct monolith in the valley of the living. It's demolished house music for raving ghosts. The rocks are steady and rolling over Newton . It starts fantastic and then keeps getting better. All tracks are equal in strength and length and composed with the radical simplicity of a veteran structuralist. Hi-fi reverb, spacey walls of shifting sound, hypnotic synthpop, symbiotic guitars, functionalist effects, percussive agitation, informative samples, Orientalist flirtations � everything's re-collected to coalesce in the unbeatable layering technique of the Nightbreeder. And of course the mantric incantation of The Growl: unrepentant voice of a teacher man promoting Atheist faith to pagan deserters with coldminded robotica. Perfection can grow boring fast but the man of all qualities pulls it off with gusto: the marching runes manic mid-tempo will violently awaken the opiated at each repeated listening like it was the first time. Groovy anthemic tribal psalms for the Palmarès of Hell. There's no ethereal female contrapunto this once, leaving the coherence prudently intact. The magic balance of dancing pentagrams is maintained by multiple reality's polar strings attached. Its manipulative power fuelled by pure hate firmly protects the project's progressive decadence. Long live the funeral nation on the run. This ticket is valid till Eternity.
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With their latest album, due for release on 10 July 2007, Midnight Configuration once again prove themselves as one of the most dominating bands in the darker music scene. Trevor Bramford’s ruthless tyrannical vocals are intensified by bombastic synth melodies, malicious guitar riffs and blood-spattering beats. Based upon the theory of other worlds existing alongside ours, this is a haunting reminder that we are not alone. “Parallel Worlds’ is a detonating force, like gasoline on fire with a unparalleled Gothic and furiously brutal sound that will reek havoc on the dance-floor. This is the band’s most possessed album to date!
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Mick Mercer's review of Parallel Worlds

MIDNIGHT CONFIGURATION
PARALLEL WORLDS
Nightbreed

I'd not heard them for a while but it's good to know the nutters are still going, making noise some people wish they wouldn't, still utilising grumbling, grasping, rumbling, rasping alien vocals and with all umbilical pistons pumping, all nostrils flaring. On this CD, limited to a thousand copies, they've decided it's time to air what Trev claims is a concrete explanation for parallel worlds, which somehow concerns gravity. An expert, probably down the pub, told him this. Claiming to have a newly discovered firm scientific basis for this, he doesn't mention that in another world another Midnight Configuration must be doing the same, but claiming to have no basis in fact. There could be dozens of them, all releasing albums, some pointing out that for them gravity doesn't exist. Their CDs have to be tied down.

'The Fall Of Marianne' is a standard chomping Goth-Industrial rock hybrid with a rousing, dirty quality which serves as a catchy introduction, slipping into the fluid 'No Tomorrow', the synth as niggling as the hungry guitar is feasting on rhythmical divots, and because they've been doing this post-dance displays longer than most the marriage between noise and pulse is seamless. Interesting words gurgle out of pools of darkness, but with no lyric sheet I can make little out clearly.

'Inner War' is like doof hijacked, a simple beat with antagonistic guitar waves rivalling the vocals and stirring synth but the energised 'Eternity' is a rotating, spitting fury with a bumptious dance grind, the power pouring out of it. 'The Distortion Field' is even bolder with its flaunted, mean-spirited bass and weirdly cyclical vocal moaning chorus. The guitar drags it down bit, but it's a ghostly oil tanker of a song and nothing will knock it off course. 'Something's Coming' he wails, but doesn't know what. It could be demon termites, it could be a thousand Dale Wintons. A playfully bulbous throwback to their earliest style it's gloriously relaxed for all the spluttery drama, and for a moment 'Parallel Worlds' seems like a slow motion 'Heroes' with a lot of twinkly sludge stirred in, as befits a song where the singer can feel the texture of worlds slipping through his fingers. You wanna get that looked at. It's a jolly thing, with some morose twinges.

'Perdition's Flame' introduces the notion of a supercilious mockingbird laughing at the common herd which is fine, as the song percolates happily and the vocals aren't quite so distorted, which helps. Elegant, yet rowdy. 'Miranda' is a surprise resurrection, newly plumped up and spitting feathers, 'Surrounded By Evil' comes on like the never-anticipated Industrial Zydeco to start, but it's mainly evident in the volcanic twangy chorus. 'The Wrath Of The Sun' has a lot more frothiness wiggling through the pained expostulations which makes it's a lot less wrathy than required, the synth being positively creamy. 'IntrerFEARence' parades Cossack bluster to enliven dark curmudgeonly angst, but the plain Industrial trampoline that is 'Excommunication' didn't lash out enough for me. Although Midconfig-by-numbers it still manages to be dopey fun, then 'Haunted' snarks about with more than a touch of techno meltdown to it, reminding you that a lot of this is almost a games soundtrack minus weaponry.

I enjoyed this immensely, but then I always liked earlier MC material and ENDG, and Brother Orchid come to that. However, I didn't learn anything, about Trev's secret gravitational knowledge. (Hah, pull the other one! The boy's having a laugh.)

Don't go playing conker with planets. It creates a mess.
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This band kicks ass!!! Saw 'em in Mansfield. Music is well off the wall, well intence with beats and riffs banging. Braaaap!
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