Pitchfork

Since the late 1980s, the Dutch duo of Frans De Waard and Freek Kinkelaar have blazed an enigmatic trail together as Beequeen, with the bulk of their back catalog consisting of impossibly rare singles, one-sided LPs, self-issued cassettes, and other seldom-seen relics. And much of their early work (at least in the trace amounts I've actually been able to track down) is as inscrutable as their discography is unwieldy, consisting of a formidable series of opaque post-industrial ambient dronescapes.

With their 2002 album Ownliness, however, the twosome made an abrupt (relatively speaking) break with their past as they cracked open their heavy shutters just enough to allow in some stray melodic sunrays, even making use of polite trip-hop beats and ringing indie-rock guitars. Picking up from where the more accessible fibers of Ownliness led them, The Bodyshop is Beequeen's most musically expansive work yet, incorporating elements of shadowy folk and Faustian prog into their microsound tableaus. And though Beequeen's combination of electronics and folk elements is hardly an unprecedented (or untrendy) maneuver, few acts this side of Current 93 have so managed to lace their surface pastoralism with such unsettling, sinister nuance.

Painstakingly recorded by Legendary Pink Dots guitarist Erik Drost, every sound on The Bodyshop has been audibly fretted over down to the tiniest electronic mote, giving these pieces an effectively claustrophobic feel that never permits the listener to become overly comfortable, quietly demanding the album receive unbroken attention.

After opening with the Yo La Tengo-like guitar instrumental of "Swag Cave," (one of the few unambiguously pretty tracks here) the gentle folksy arpeggios of "Sad Sheep" are soon overrun by itchy, drill-like electronic whines, segueing into "The Dream-O-Phone" where the microscopic mandibles of carpenter ants patiently consume the lush scenery. Elsewhere, as on the percussive "Blackburn" or swirling psych of "One Road to Everywhere", Beequeen begin to resemble the spacious avant-rock of groups like Cul De Sac or Dirty Three.

Perhaps the track most illustrative of The Bodyshop's peculiar allure is their cover of Nick Drake's "Black-Eyed Dog", which features exquisite, double-tracked vocals by Marie-Louise Munck. Beginning as a near a cappella folk tune, Beequeen allow Drake's troubling lyric ("A black-eyed dog he called at my door...a black-eyed dog he knew my name") room to gather depressive momentum before slowly adding layers of disquieting, clacking electronics which carry the groans of an antique winding wheel spinning gold back into straw. It's a mesmerizing, haunting performance, and it exemplifies Beequeen's skill for creating beguiling music whose tranquil surfaces mask treacherous, churning depths.