Showing posts with label gurgling bloody mess. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gurgling bloody mess. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Hure-s/t EP (2012)

Take one look at a video of these guys live, and their sound isn't surprising at all. Colossal, mindlessly repetitive drummachine beats, fucked noise boxes, and propulsive guitars channeling a psychotic breakdown. In a word, noise.

A lot of people were doing this sorta thing in Chicago back around 2006-'08, but leave it to the Germans to do it more systematically and efficiently than us Midwestern Yankees. Noise like this generally adopts one of two tactics: It sometimes attempts to pop your eardrums with piercing, streamlined feedback (for that, go to Bloody Minded). Or the noisebots go for towering walls of guitar-and-drum sludge, hammering away at your forehead anvil-fashion, until you succumb to the numbing repetition of it all. Hure does the latter. This is ugly, savage music played by guys wrapped in duct tape. "Kopf" is the best track here, encapsulating Hure's line of attack: insistent guitar strumming, a drum machine that relentlessly slams and whams, and fucked feedback trilling in the background somewhere.

Needless to say, it's not for casual listeners. You either like noise or you don't. Many of us got into it after years of listening to hardcore, and being bored by its stupidity. Well, noise is dumb but in its own unique ways. Hure knows what they're doing, and does it well.

Listen to Hure here.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Tachycardie-Be Nice to Music EP (2012)

I don't think I've explained how much I hate southern California on Drug Punk, yet. That's kinda a different spiel than I wanna hold forth on here, but it's relevant insofar as listening to Tachycardie makes me wanna throw very sharp rocks into all the private pools that dot the (non-)neighborhood around my apartment. All those filthy rich bastards soakin' up the sun while the rest of us grind...
...anyways, Tachycardie blasts through seven tracks of twisted, constipated noise in the Big Black tradition on this EP. The wrecking-ball drums are mixed to the front, the guitars are a squalling mess in the background, and the singer's words get lost beneath the sonic muck as you empathize totally and completely with the noxious misery that would lead people to produce such contorted, misanthropic muck.

Really, they're a lot friendlier, sonically speaking, than Drug Punk favorites such as Billy Bao, Bloody Minded, and Brain Bombs, but they perfectly suit the misanthropic mire I'm in right now, so whatever, go shoot yr boss and then throw this record on. So there.
On Cocktail Pueblo Rex. If you read French.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Billy Bao-May '08 LP (2009)

Yes, dear readers, I'm still here. I've just been spending most of my days lately reading stuff that looks like this so I ain't got much time for dis heer punk rock,  nawmean?                                              Anyhoo, tonite's 3rd of July special is none other than the Basque Country's most terrifying thing besides the ETA, Billy Bao. I gave up long ago on determining whether Billy Bao's story is true or false-given how clear their debt to The Society of the Spectacle is, I doubt "true" and "false" are   useful categories here.                                                                             But you kiddies iz here for dee moosick, ya? Here's whatcha got: five pieces (NOT "songs") of very intelligently assembled, shrieking, horrifying noise that includes a Fela Kuti sample somewhere on Side A (how could I make this up?). Everyone's been screaming "Whitehouse this" and "Brain Bombs that" since these cats started dropping sonic napalm, but fuck that. Billy Bao's music is clearly and violently its own thing altogether, even when they thank Whitehouse in the text of that indecipherable cover. This is a terrifying, twitching manifestation of the social disease known as capitalism...or the demons dancing in your head after mixing speed and valium. I'll let the eggheads amongst you figure out if that's a false distinction or not.
I have to warn you that you will ABSOLUTELY HATE THIS THING if you're expecting standard punk music based on rock formulae. This is a sonic atrocity, not rock 'n' roll.                            
Fuck May '68, Fight Now! After detourning your own private spectacle, mosy over to Mattin's page and see if May '08 or any of Billy Bao's blunt objects are still in print. Big ups to DX at Distort 'zine for turning me onto these terrorists. Find some hilarious reviews here.

p.s.-sorry this post looks like shit. Blogger is being about as helpful as the Italian public transit system tonight.

*9.14.11-Ok. I'm the idiot. "Billy Bao." "Bilbao." Say the two words, then decide if there's actually a Nigerian dude in this band...yeah, didn't think so. Hahaha, joke's on us.*