The Howling - Colure (2LP)

Five years after Sacred Ground, Howling returned with Colure, a record that feels like dusk settling over a city you know by heart. It arrived in July 2020 through Counter Records, and it is the rare follow up that deepens a signature sound without sanding off its grain. The duo is still the same perfect tension between RY X’s fragile, breathy tenor and Frank Wiedemann’s patient, pressure-building electronics. One is an Australian singer with a folk instinct for melody, the other a German producer from Âme and the Innervisions world, a scene built on slow-blooming arcs and rooms that hold their breath. Together, they write songs that hover between club memory and private confession.

What lands first is the mix itself. Wiedemann’s palette sits warm and wide, with bass that rises like a tide and synths that feel airbrushed yet tangible. There are kicks that thud, little hi hat flickers, reverb that breathes, all calibrated so RY X can whisper and still sound enormous. Colure is not a pop turn and not a retreat to the dance floor either. It stretches the quiet between those poles. When the beats hit, they do not shout. They enter and exit with intention, like a friend who knows when to leave you alone.

The singles laid out that intent nicely. Phases is a master class in restraint, building on a simple piano figure and a barely there pulse until the melody crests. Need You Now works the other angle, more immediate, its hook looping like a mantra while the low end swells. Neither track tries to outshine the voice, which is key to Howling’s pull. RY X rides close to the mic, all breath and ache, but he never tips into melodrama. His falsetto threads the arrangements instead of floating above them.

There is a sense of travel in these songs, which fits the project’s history. Howling grew from transcontinental exchanges, and you can hear the push and pull of two rooms. One is a Berlin studio lit by sequencer LEDs, the other is a spare space with a guitar on a stand and a notebook open to half-finished lines. On Colure, those rooms feel more porous. Acoustic guitar peeks through synth fog. Piano chimes in the distance, then a kick drum places the scene at 3 a.m. The result is cinematic without leaning on big gestures. It is mood as craft.

Fans of Sacred Ground will recognize the patience. The payoffs are earned. A little delay tail becomes a theme. A sub bass tone you barely notice at first turns out to be carrying the song. On vinyl, that kind of detail gets even richer. If you can find Colure vinyl, grab it, because the low end and stereo field breathe in a way that streaming does not love to hand you. I spun a copy in a Melbourne record store last winter and the room went quiet by the second chorus, that kind of collective hush you still chase when you buy Howling records online and hope the post brings something you can live in.

The record also sits in an interesting pocket in both artists’ stories. Wiedemann has long been a study in slow motion tension, learning from years on Innervisions floors where a small shift can feel seismic. RY X brings melodies that can stand with no beat at all. Colure keeps both truths in view. You could play parts of it before sunrise at a festival, you could also let it score a long drive home. Not many albums carry that kind of dual citizenship.

If you are crate digging for Howling albums on vinyl, this one belongs next to Sacred Ground. Not as a sequel trying to outdo the debut, but as a companion that understands the same weather from a new angle. It is confident and hushed, open hearted and carefully engineered. The cover may not promise fireworks, but the slow sparks inside linger. For anyone who likes their electronic music with a pulse you can hold in your hand, Colure makes a strong case. And if you are reading this somewhere in vinyl records Australia land, keep an eye on local shops, because this is a record that rewards a good needle and a little patience.