So I’ll come right out and admit it, using a truly tortuous metaphor: if Broken Deer was a magnet, I’d be the spilt iron filings bristling all over it, irremovable, fascinated and twitching.
Broken Deer‘s music bypasses both the rational lobe of the brain and the musical one, and connects directly with the bit that makes me recoil with satisfaction, pleasure and a beguiling, bizarre sense of comfort.
Found sounds pulled from dusty locked drawers, voices from the misty ether, warm radio crackle from the other side of the world. Broken Deer channels all those feelings of wide-eyed intrigue into a tangible reality, and then smashes them back into a thousand little fragments.
Broken Deer is actually a person called Lindsay Dobbin. But forget that name. Disassociate the sounds with humanity, and you’ll begin to wonder if you’ve tapped into the tentative recordings of an alien who has has learnt about music via radio waves from Earth’s past which are only just arriving in their present.
Deft, careful, delicate, delicious: Broken Deer.