"Waddaya wanna be around other people for? Most of 'em suck anyways...."-barfly friend of Lester Bangs
For those of you who haven't figured it out by reading this blog regularly, I like getting drunk. A lot. As many of you know, getting wasted often involves a dizzying low at the end of the night.
Last week's dizzying low consisted of lurching mindlessly around a disgusting bar while Fear's "I love Living in the city" blasted on the PA. I had been drinking cheap beer all night, but then my caveman of a friend convinced me to take a few shots of vodka with him.
At this point, things spun out of control and everything morphed into a spiraling torrent of burbling shit, with lights blinking around me, peoples' words turning into ritualistic incantations of impending doom, and the music losing all rhythm and becoming a grey sludge of dissonance. After stumbling away from the girl I've been sweet on for three months, mumbling "water...gurgle...beer...gurgle....call me...gurgle...," I ended the night puking on my friend's front lawn. I think I killed his flowers.
This two-song EP from Gay Par-ee may in fact have been what they started playing at the bar after I drank that vodka: relentlessly churning, miserable, frustrated, stupid and self-destructive noise that sticks in your brain and refuses to leave except via a bowel movement. Obvious references are Brainbombs and Billy Bao, and I might like Drosofile almost as much as Brainbombs...
Also, there's something massively appropriate to the songs being sung in French: it just makes the scenes of debauched hell more believable, I guess. It also reminds me of the all-time champion of Francophone punk, Kickboy Face. The spiralling, record-stuck-on-repeat guitar chord(s) of "Your Roberts" is the coolest thing I've heard all week. Sounds like the whistle a bomb makes on its plummet target-ward.
Enjoy here, fuckers. SDZ Records, the people responsible for this atrocity, live here.
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