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this is what happens when horn flatulance meets honking vehicles stuck in a Silicon elephant jam. more often than not there is more tranquility than meets the midi eye. for the thinking fella, you get these patterns and melodies making intercourse with the computer. what comes out is queefer air improv. the louder you play it, the better. you dog may not appreciate it. a class of high school students with disabilities endorsed it.
unhinged whiplash grindcore splatter from Singapore. you know the braindrill: short, fast, mathy grooves and jagged metal angled punk like a pit of fighting dogs roaring in hate and disgust with humanity: the everlasting everpresent boot of oppression. played all together it sounds like variations of the same song. best if consumed live in the flesh mangled pit of blood, sweat, alcohol. the record sounds better produced than they sound live, which doesn’t soften their fercocious attack but can’t match their legendary raw performances. give Trix a beating for bringing the band to the KFJC pit.
thanks to Ms. Tiza for spotting this ghoulish relic tucked away in a rotting record store bin. some classic tale-telling and less-cheesy than you might think. some black humor cutting at the expense of the victims where the words invoke more impression than a gory ice pick expression to the face. ghosts, cats, and maybe personal demons come to life from secret places that we only know from personal trajedy or from listening round the campfire. some are super short so watch your back..or weave them together into your own web of deceit.
monotonous mockery of metal, noise, punk, Christianity, Maus, Satan, hipsters and anything else sacred you can glean from the gnarled rasps of mostly unintelligible vocals. although this is their 6th album and 5th one dumped into the KFJC catacombs, it continues a familiar course of filthy, murky, harsh, pounding rock caught in a fuckoff between Brainbombs and Butthole Surfers raping Ministry with the Mayyors on top. no surprise there’s a former Skinny Puppy behind the meat curtain, Ken Marshall, or that it occasionally falls off the groove in favor of anticlimactic distractions and fortunately less samples than expected including an excerpt from Edward ???Dirty??? Sanchez???s emergency services call.
after the opening drone jumps into an experimental but clinical breed of thrashcore the album veers into an epic post prog rock blend of modern subgenres that sounds less adventurous than the debut album. unlike the first album, where there was a crowded juxtaposition between unlikely companions such as surf instrumentals, black metal blasts, deck waltzes, orchestral numbers, psych trippiness and of course, math riffage this second album is thicker, fuller and more cohesive like they’ve been listening to a lot of Tarantula Hawk, Pink Floyd, old Rush, Mogwai and especially the psychedelic metal of Enslaved. barely a hint of the surf fun that lifted up the first album, but this will still have the wide appeal of Pelican, Ocean, etc. although elements of various instruments continue to poke through the mix, there’s more attention to threading the parts together to make songs, not work-outs, as evidenced by the addition of melodic vocals. although hinting at post-apocalypse this self-described aural cinema is too gorgeous to feel intimidating. even its heavier, slower edge gives chase to a mutant redneck we all wish was directing this feature.
Peste Noire – “La Sanie Des Siecles – Panegyrique De La Degenerescence” – [Transcendental Creations]
rerelease of debut album from one of France’s most influential black metal bands in the modern resurgence of the oft criticized, maligned and despised genre. if you missed the raw demos and the limited 2006 release, now’s your chance to hear what attracts and repulses so many. Pest Noire, Black Plague in French and aka Kommando Peste Noire, is all about atmosphere, mood, french nationalism and of course, satanism. what separates them from the ordinary is Famine’s melodic counterpoint to the medieval and poetic decay evident in the lo-fi din of torture and violence. waltz, classical and choral elements merge with wide-ranging guitar solos, blast beats and harsh gagged shrieks that honor the icon of low culture in France’s history. this laid the groundwork for the mentally ill conceived Folkfuck Folie, a masterpiece for some, a disaster for most.
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