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Author Topic: PLAYLIST with COMMENTS/REVIEWS  (Read 2801882 times)
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« Reply #7980 on: June 29, 2020, 07:49:00 PM »

Agreed on that Grey Wolves 7". Great sound/artwork. I have far from everything they did but this is the favorite GW material of what I have. I pretty much have all the Gero 7"s as well and played them all in a row last year. Can't remember which one was my favorite but I like everything except for the noisecore stuff. To me a good example of an artist for which 7" vinyl is the perfect format.

Roly Porter - 'Kistvaen' arrived here today and I just listened to it. Need a couple of more spins but very promising so far. Never heard of this artist before but ordered a copy based on the description. Nice mix of dark ambient, industrial and medieval vocals. Maybe a bit too modern/clean for some here but it's a great layered and nicely balanced album.
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« Reply #7981 on: June 29, 2020, 08:25:21 PM »

Roly Porter - 'Kistvaen' arrived here today and I just listened to it. Need a couple of more spins but very promising so far. Never heard of this artist before but ordered a copy based on the description. Nice mix of dark ambient, industrial and medieval vocals. Maybe a bit too modern/clean for some here but it's a great layered and nicely balanced album.

I make a big second recommendation for Roly Porter generally. I've been a fan of Roly Porter since his days in proto-dubstep duo Vex'd and own nearly all of his work at this point, but I have not heard this newest album. His last one, Life Cycle of a Massive Star, or something like that, was absolutely killer. It's like dark ambient if dark ambient was interesting and not wooshy sounds and bass noises. He goes all out. And his first album songs are all titled after planets from the Dune universe so bonus points for that.
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« Reply #7982 on: June 30, 2020, 07:30:02 PM »

Striations - Keepsakes CD (Freak Animal Records)

Very industrial, machine rhythms churning and scraping. A buried layer of effect laden vocals underneath the surface of the noise. Murky and a horrid sense of anxiety throughout the release. Sonically it's closer to more traditional PE than the other releases I'm familiar with from Striations. The elements of harsh noise/junk metal aren't present like on some past releases.

It's definitely on the darker side like Catalog of Cruelty but sonically a little different. The heavy synth use on that release is more sparse here and substituted for a larger focus on mechanical loops. Bad vibes all around, there is no hope or pleasantries at any moment on this release. Not that there usually is with Striations though!

Recommended for those that like to soak in malaise and regret.
« Last Edit: June 30, 2020, 08:01:11 PM by Fistfuck Masonanie » Logged
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« Reply #7983 on: June 30, 2020, 09:14:47 PM »

JASON CRUMER - Self-Titled 2LP / CD
A new masterpiece and contender for album of the year, as has already been hinted at by a few people here. Incredibly immersive and emotive album, in the same vein as Ottoman black as far as composition, but dryer and just better in my opinion (Ottoman Black never really clicked with me to be honest but I'll have to revisit it now). It's a movie, so hard and pointless to try to go into great detail about it, so just put it on and crank the volume yourself if you're a noise fan. Listened to it 4 times since its arrival yesterday, both the CD and vinyl version and I must say the CD sounds 10x better. Not that the vinyl is a bad pressing per se, but this dude is a master at producing really dynamic clean full frequency noise music and the CD format reproduces what he intended perfectly.
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« Reply #7984 on: July 01, 2020, 07:54:42 AM »

See bottom of this post for digest commentary.

TVE – Smoking Big Killer
Don’t ask me why, but when I first came across this project I was under the impression that it was working mainly with found tape. But it sure don’t sound like no tape I ever came across. So leaving out the question what the fuck was they smokin’ to the more obvious where in hell did they find this shit? Well, I’m guessing it was staged. Like the person responsible "accidentally" dumps the tape down the toilet, and then after several months fairly heavy use fishes out the soiled remains, all the while mugging for imaginary camera, "Oh golly gee, what have we here? No wonder it wasn't flushing properly!"

Clearly there’s more to it than that. There would have to be. This tape, at the mercy of convictions likely disposed to deride projects like MNEM for being too hi-fi, is in no condition to carry on. Time to pop the ribbon out of the shell, but wait, not like...ah geez. Good luck trying to respool that. My man toke toke you smoke too fuckin’ much. An effort to salvage a degree of playability instead nets crumpled knotted lengths criss-crossing one another in a tangled garbled weave that smolders inauspiciously at the edge of the mixing desk. Desperate for traction, a single promising length is extracted with intent to manually rub against the head. Rub it, just fucking rub it. Oh fuck yeah that's it baby. Yeah just like that. Fuck oh fuck yes YES fuck ohhh ffuuuu-

Um, sorry to break in here but this is starting to feel just that mite bit too up close and personal if you uh catch my drift. Definitely a lot of acousmatic friction going on, a lot of rough abrasion- you’d be lucky enough to make it out with just a few nasty skin burns. The sound here in any case is pretty gross. Organic, yes, but maybe too organic. That point where you start to thinking, y'know Mother Nature is all nice and all, but uh. This is pretty gross. Like meth fiend applying extreme suction to a mic-head, tokin’ for all it’s worth. Or perhaps the reverse, huffing and puffing and blowing straight down into it, with the midrange turned all the way up, frowny-faced EQ tweakery saturating apparent outlying concrete sources with frazzled metal-tinged raspberry clusters. From time to time it sounds as though an oversized burlap sack filled with cinder blocks were being continuously dragged in pointedly pointless circles around an unevenly paved spot of asphalt, rents in the fabric worsening with every heaving exertion, studious efforts to not give a fuck weirdly persuasive. At other moments, as the dynamics of the concrete sources seem to constantly rise and fall, a hint of metal-like thwacking almost suggests proximity to a railway track. Against this a repeated percussion of patty-caked collapse, a pachinko machine going ape-shit or perhaps someone- again, “accidentally” – dropped their collection of glass marbles into the wash and the whole cacophony of ‘em is smacking into one another on the spin-rinse.

All the above is barest approximation, of course, the acoustic determinations forced, under plainly physical pressures, into exceedingly narrow frequency bands, smudged fidelities resigned to choke in lumpy mufflings of raw, mangled, dilapidation. There’s this sense of taking previously blown out gear and trying to recreate that first killer blow-out, smoke and all, allowing the circuits to choose their own path to simulated oblivion. At its loudest peak the tape abruptly cuts out and then the slow emergence, through amplified hum and hiss, of sporadic semi-acoustic, multi-orificed, farts and coughs, their badly-defined contortions indecorously flopped out in between protracted stretches of tense, bone dry, air. From time to time the farts and coughs cobble together in bubbly bulgings of bass-heavy bluster, their tinny, teeny, under-amped decays vaguely suggestive of worm-like screw-driver scrabbling or rusty voiced hinge-squeaks. A final cobbling together of stringy gobs of toked out belch, gasp, clatter, end side the first.

The flip-side actually threatens to get musical in its opening stretch, if you’d call the repetitive call-response of cheese-grater-scraping-against-tinfoil-speakers and cracked-tongue-out-lolly-wheedle-of smothered-amp-hum musical (I know I would!). In the background, meantime, an increasingly dominant strain of wobbly electro-drawl snakes along a low-end feedback-curve to complete the picture perfect portrait of ailing machine on the fritz. Smooth fade to muffled hiss and then the smothered acousmatic farts and coughs are back, polarities kipping backward into extended stretches of stale, hissy, air, smudged particles percolating at the surface but never revealing more than the bleariest hint of origin. At a dramatic moment, a warped and slurry snatch of gravelly downpitched voice- sounding like a depressed mutant robot on lithium- temporarily un-hinges the relative stasis, jarring snaps and pops of overtaxed-speaker-ready-to-blow accentuating the incursion.

Now the snaps and pops are getting aggressive, machine-gunning together with pent-up percussive force and heeere’s Marvin, the mutant strains of the paranoid android back to narrate some sort of domestic complaint details of which soon blurrrrrrr into a gravelly droning consistency. The gravelly consistency gets roughly chopped into irregular textured exhalations, like an extremely bad case of smoker’s cough run through a single faulty transistor. Muffled speaker pops overtake low-end feedback drawls and then that scrappy cheese grater is back, shredding the tangy smoked-out ozones, the full medley of discardables cacking together in turns like the climax of that ill-fated Strauss opus Bicycle Built For Two.


Digest spew
For those who think MNEM is too hi-fi, TVE’s got the shit. The dirt. The dregs of filth-flavored fidelity fed through tinny tinfoil frictions, frazzled metal-tinged raspberry clusters rendering raw the rough abrasions of frowny-faced frequency bands narrowly choked in the bleary-eyed acousmatics of muffled, multi-orificed, farts and coughs. Very organic in execution, the dynamics of badly defined concrete sources rising and falling, close-mic’d contortions subject to wild-eyed whims of mad scientist, tweakin’ hard, intent on reverse engineering the art of blowing amps reeeal goood, tangled circuits traveling their own path to simulated oblivion. If this is to approximate the effects on the lungs of inhaling seven thousand toxic chemicals fifteen times daily, I, like, get it. Life, or some fair approximation thereof, goes on.
« Last Edit: July 01, 2020, 05:39:41 PM by Bloated Slutbag » Logged

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« Reply #7985 on: July 02, 2020, 08:57:16 PM »

John Wall - M - 2020 - he's always been a master tactician and sonic surgeon (check Alterstill and Fractuur), but I lost touch with him when he went down paths that interested me less - listened to this twice today; could be that I was just in the mood for this kind of craftsmanship and sound, or anything sounding similar to a chopper blade is certain to pique interest, but whatever it is, this is a great 15 minutes - I'd like to see him collaborate with John Wiese - the way he puts together sound, I'm surprised independent film makers aren't knocking at his door - electro-acoustic, but other than that.
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« Reply #7986 on: July 03, 2020, 03:35:48 AM »

Spent time with some LPs tonight:

Pedestrian Deposit - Vestige LP (Hospital, 2006)

U.S. Steel Cello Ensemble - Noise in the Library LP (Putojefe, 2018)
Reissue of a tape recorded live in Berlin, 1989.

A-side at times sounds like a steel Stockhausen orchestra (though not that extreme, this is pretty low-key overall) with steel cello, bow chimes, and “vocals”. B-side is a lengthy droning movement. Hard to believe these sounds are coming from physical instruments, not electronic gear. Would be great to experience in person. Pleasantly surprised with this chance pickup for the distro.

Skin Crime - Traveller on the Road LP (Hospital, 2019)
The transition from the U.S. Steel Cello Ensemble LP that was on deck prior to this was nearly perfect (as was Pedestrian Deposit - Vestige LP into Steel Cello. If it was a radio show I would not have noticed the segue).

One of the best of the recent run of Skin Crime releases, therefore deserving of the album treatment, but while it sounds good on LP it would probably be amazing on CD. Still total fire either way.

Jason Lescalleet - Electronic Music LP (RRRecords, 2003)

And yesterday:

Joe Colley - Psychic Stress Soundtracks 2LP (Misanthropic Agenda, 2020)
The mastering on this is excellent. Would like to compare to the 2005 CD, but this is highly satisfying.

Black Leather Jesus + Atrax Morgue - Your Eyes On My Hands LP (4iB / Bacteria Field, 2020)
Reissue of 1997 tape on Deadline.

Mania / Deterge - Lay Waste / Future of Pulse LP (Fusty Cunt, 2018)
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« Reply #7987 on: July 03, 2020, 08:32:17 AM »

John Wall - M - 2020 - he's always been a master tactician and sonic surgeon (check Alterstill and Fractuur), but I lost touch with him when he went down paths that interested me less - listened to this twice today; could be that I was just in the mood for this kind of craftsmanship and sound, or anything sounding similar to a chopper blade is certain to pique interest, but whatever it is, this is a great 15 minutes - I'd like to see him collaborate with John Wiese - the way he puts together sound, I'm surprised independent film makers aren't knocking at his door - electro-acoustic, but other than that.

Thanks for this. Missed it completely. I think I'm somewhere in the same boat concerning the more recent output. I keep coming back to check on the progress so to speak and going away a bit cold. The collabs with Mark Durgan primo example of something I keep revisiting to see if the ears have undergone the necessary chemical rearrangements to ensure correct reception. But some of the very recent collabs with Edwards and Sanders (the live sets and the FGBH re-work) sound very good to me...possibly because the use of the more traditional live instrumentation puts them more along the lines of Fractuur & friends. It's unclear but I'd wonder if some of M was sourced from the referred to collab sessions. And wonder too if this could be the catalyst to shoot me down another rabbit hole.
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« Reply #7988 on: July 04, 2020, 10:32:29 PM »

Éric Cordier - Wars 2020 - first new album since 2013?  went into this with a lot of excitement and enthusiasm - as you'd expect, the fidelity is great, maybe only bettered by the sonics of Dave Phillips (who has at least two new big releases this year?) - a couple of the tracks could have been split because they felt like two very different directions, but maybe the source material was dictating not?  I think I was only disappointed because I was expecting more dynamics and surges.  It didn't frizzle my brain like Houlque, but that's a monstrous order.  They can't all be Reign in Blood.  A relaxing, deep Sunday morning newspaper read.
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« Reply #7989 on: July 05, 2020, 08:51:24 PM »

Eric Boros / Dave Phillips 3" CD-R (Scrotum Records, 2003)

EB laughing in stereo. DP gasping for air (and eventually just yelling like crazy) while running samples of pigs squealing at varying pitches over a repeating pulse beat before blasting off at the end.

Hermit / Weird Vision CS (A.O.W.T.D., 1996)

Split between two cult Canadian acts.

Hermit (Eric Boros) side is titled “Vision of Tron” and is what I assume to be music from the Tron soundtrack sprinkled with a bit of noise... *shrugging emoji*

Weird Vision side is long-form HN. It’s enjoyable even if nothing special.

Dubbed copy received from another cult Canadian, Francis Gauthier aka Frank Goshit.

Hermit - Pain Machine CD-R (Garbage Society, 1998)

Still on the Hermit kick. Nice little 13-minute effort here. Droning hum, a repetitious tone pattern and metal clang span the duration, with swirling electronics ebbing and flowing and eventually leading to what sounds like a very-sped-up tape of a saxophone, staying just below the surface.

Released on his own Garbage Society label.

Picked this up in my latest order from the Self Abuse distro a few months back. Sadly the cover insert has stuck to the plastic sleeve and can no longer be removed. Fuck PVC sleeves forever.

Due Process - Combine XXIII-XXXV CD-R (2011)

Stumbled upon this while digging through the box of (mostly) CD-Rs with no spines. It's exactly what the promo sheet says: "electro-acoustic musique concrete". The spliced moderate chaos abounds, but on the B-side ("combined" by Thomas Dimuzio) it gradually comes together, culminating in some structured elegance.

Received in a package from RRR when I ordered Jason Lescalleet's The Pilgrim (fire emoji), among other things, circa 2011. Eventually became the 2013 LP on Phage. I may have listened to the LP when I had copies in the distro but I don't think I've ever put this disc in until now.
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« Reply #7990 on: July 05, 2020, 10:57:56 PM »

Kjostad - Extinctionist

I have been an avid follower of the Kjostad output since near the creation of the project.  This albums varies a great deal from the rest of his catalogue, and yet retains similar production control.
This time there are definite "track" structures in place.  Rhythms from loops, layers, production and stereo placement.  
With albums such as the mighty Environmental Electronics which was essentially guerilla noise distortion of found sounds and recordings, there seems to be a lot more post processing and contemplation of structure involved here, which I approve of, as it still keeps the harshness of nature vs electronic manipulation that I hold a torch for in my own work.  A real step change forward for the artist in my view.
I should also add that the album is rather concise - 6 tracks and around 37 minutes long.  It hits hard and pushes a lot of my buttons, will probably be an AOTY contender if I ever get around to compiling a list.
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« Reply #7991 on: July 07, 2020, 09:51:47 PM »

Various ‎– Good Alchemy Video DVDr - Alchemy Records 2008 - so I had the brilliant idea a few weeks ago to record all the audio from this DVD and segment it up into separate files for easier listening since I rarely, almost never, watch music DVDs/VHSs. Well it still took me a while to actually listen to it but I have and now I can share my world shattering insights here. On the whole there's a lot of shriek and screech in these recordings. I don't know if they're mixer recordings or just from the video camera used for taping but there are few moments of bass-y noise. Although I guess that's fairly typical for a lot of the artists here. Also, I did actually watch this DVD years ago and I re-watched the Masonna and Solmania videos last week and from a visual perspective it's not always super engaging but there's enough VHS grain, multi-image merging and weird fading to keep you interested. And it’s interesting from a historical perspective.

So as for the music, Masonna starts things off with simpler feedback and vocal oriented noise but eventually develops into more spastic, blasting vocal noise assaults. On the whole it has more in common with the earliest Masonna releases rather than the hyper edited assaults of the mid ‘90s. The video is quite cool too, seeing Maso throwing himself all around for extended periods. Definitely a much longer look than you’d get from post 2005 live sets.
Incapacitants sound like Incapacitants. I haven’t watched the video in a while but I’m pretty sure there’s some theremin action among many other things. It’s squiggly and even obnoxious but still a satisfying listen.

And then mid ‘90s MERZBOW. How can you go wrong? You can’t. Heavy blasting noise, more full sounding than any other recording. Absolutely brutal in parts, especially in what I think is the second set of the combined two. Constantly churning waves of distorted sound pummeling you like savage waters. An easy highlight, if not my favorite of the bunch.

Next up is Solmania in duo form. First off the live video has other video of topless women riding motorcycles fading in and out of it at the beginning and end which is very on brand. Tits and twin guitar noise, yes please. This is when Ohno still had a much uglier double neck guitar. Half guitar, half bass guitar, all sorts of built in effects. Sugahara, as far as I can tell, is playing a regular guitar with a focus on the high ending screech and squall. The screaming feedback never stops, but you get some riffs early on and interesting semi-loops later on. Also some tasty screaming vocals. It’s definitely a far cry of from the more measured and immaculate sounding album recordings, but also more clearly guitar abuse. Not the first Solmania recording I’ll be reaching for but it’s cool to hear/see a different side of what those boys do.

But fuck if Hijokaidan doesn’t come in to put a needle fine point on things. Absolutely penetrating mix of spiteful guitar, male and female vocals and broken electronic noise. The more the years go by, the more I can appreciate how uncool and absolutely brutal Hijokaidan are. Despite some great and weird graphic design, their noise offers no redemption. It’s not even really joyful like Incapacitants. It’s just ear-splitting and relentless. Now I’m re-thinking of MERZBOW is the highlight here after all. Fucking hell.

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« Reply #7992 on: July 08, 2020, 06:53:20 PM »

See bottom of this post for digest commentary.

Sewer Election – Blizzard Amplification 1xc40 + 5xc30
Every so often, the pure cleansing fury of a good harshhead ritual is demanded. More so I’d imagine when plainly heretical pursuits threaten to malign the internal consistencies keeping the head (the harsh one) screwed on a’right. Here, buffeted by perfect storms of harsh electronics & feedback, the head- harsh and otherwise- has barely space to think let alone channel its förtvivlan in the efterspel of a reverse-engineered piss poor performance. Put away that weepy guitar son, it's time w- incoming

WHOOOoooooooOOOOOOSH.

Three hours eight minutes and thirty six seconds of never flagging Sewer ERECTION, six-fold amplifications cumming hard fast gooood, far from impeachable, further still from stoppable, roaring riot through cyclopean jetstreams, torrential electronic blizzards blazing to that cataclysmic Category Six, inundating senses, reaming ‘holes, doing damage that, simply, needs to be done. Now that's what I call harsh head ritual.

Perhaps unremarkable for a project this storied and steeped in the craft, it’s still I think worth remarking that, and not to oversell the cliché of it but: there really is not a single dull moment. Perhaps a single side’s dalliance in not undesirous psychedelic oscilla-bloop, but more in the way of the exception proves the rule. The shit, rules hard. Perhaps too we can read something of this into the initial conception: the self-described improvised flow of each individual side staking a fly-by-the-seat-of-yer-soiled-panties immediacy, the constant, repeated, punchings-through of yet-still-harsher-eruptions absolutely obliterating even the teeniest suggestion of complacency. In the mindsear: locked down in shelter, unholy storms raging outside, left to own devices (and more than a few Elkbrew) and what to do but channel that rage straight to recording device. Later, per the liner notes, the er rage is remixed, but not at the expense of the living, breathing, ritual, moment.

Before completely losing the head in the moment, it may also be worth noting that not a single one of the twelve proferred sides sounds remotely like the next. Well, okay, a given one would at least remotely have to sound like a given other insofar as they are all subject to the same hardhheaded predispositions, above. But there’s quite a diversity of aptitudes here achieved, verging far and wide among the blown-out vistas, diving deep into the ear-drilling shriek-holes, plumbing the crunch-depths, scorching the psych-skies, wringing from the harsh head every ritual energy it's worth.

Volume 1, the lone c40
Filterbank Waste Campaign leads off the set with an all-frequencies-maxed mass of dense, blistering, scorch. Redzone Electronics as far as the only thing I’m seeing is red red red, blood red radioactive rains lighting up the sky in dramatic fashion. An early ascent to absolute peak of ‘hole-razing seethe and then that first punch-through, fat flatulent bass-heavy ka-bloowy clearly indicative of the improvised immediacy in play. So too with the sudden drop outs, the widening stereo scope, the narrowed singe-burrowing, all of it delivered on the fly, in the moment, but never once restrained in the full-forced thousand-millibar pressures utterly smoking ‘hole. About halfway through and the intensity ups, hyper-tensions racing through a deceptively mined field of bleating glint and frizzle. A crash down to earth precipitates explosive lurch for the heavens, tempestuous flurry of furies sufficient to lock the listener, gawping, in place- but of course, in my sad and incurable case, pacing about the room like an utter nutcase, unable to stay at this fucking keyboard for more than three words at a time. So to say, in very short order, I am completely sold. No need for the other five tapes, let alone the B side (the earholes are already completely fucked anyway).

I refuse to speculate on the meaning of Fishnet Psych-Out but it’s highly improbable that I haven’t been there myself. This one hits via much more straight-laced passions, singular singe-tones burning their clear and whitened piercings straight through skull with single-minded devotion to the principle. The principle, naturally: damage hole. At eight minutes possible concrete sources, arched clack of stilettos or well-disguised voice, attempt to crack the veneer, high-end whittling oscillation assuming a defensive posture. The oscillation breaks away and so too the singe-tones, dropped into a bass-heavy field of choking belch. Dead silence. ScrrreeeEEEEEEEEE. Revenge, sweet painful revenge, burning singing seething...choke belch gurgle, extended hum, like you gonna choose a hole or what? The answer is no, the tension is thick, the passion- slaked.

Volume 2
Razor’s Edge is a good title for the sharp, severely pitched concentrations in feedback-driven shriek. A dialog of the raw and the ragged seems to be holding more frenzied incursions at bay, spare jugular-straining rip-throughs ramping up the pressures before heftier curdles collapse the opening in piles of frequency overload. There is air, even hints of daylight in the over-amped chamber, frazzled rumble-balls scaling the inward-curving sides of spiraling screech-walls. Unlike the first tape, the sense of control, or unwillingness to bend, is pervasive, the chipped and stuttered physical exertions wasted in their attempts to divert attention.

Scream Bloody Acid expands on the blueprint sourced on the A-side, upping and dumping a good pile more shit into the outlying extremities. Heavy and steady wins the rage, the first decisive thrust seemingly promising of deviation to come only to fall in line, jacking the throttle to full mast, pouring thick and rich into whitened psych-sheets of puritannical scathe. Some ways through and low-lying underwater thunder bulgings start to disrupt proceedings, reinforced in their efforts by cascading dribblings of smoothly oscillating wave-ripple, presumably the Bloody Acid finally getting in on the action, bleep-heavy bloopery all but ensuring in their pathos a slickly sickening slither through rubbery puddles of jiggly jellied butt-wiggle.

Volume 3
The jiggly jellied butt wiggles reach their zenith in Crystalized Disease Genitalia, like we couldn’t see this coming, juicy electrodes sending salacious psychedelic signals across wide-open pools of dribbly oscilla-poop. A concerted effort to generate necessary tensions in the rise and fall of reedy buzz-surge, ever so inexorably drawing on the feeding back hydro powers of an ultimately immersive tidal wooosh. Low-lying underwater thunder bulgings are now back in the mix and with them the unmistakably caustic insinuation of Bloody Acid, never quite to scream but to drown in the sweetly synthetic deluge.

Mass Mass Nerve will certainly get on them, the nerves I mean, in the wake of the Crystalized predecessor. Harsh, in the sense of lazer focused on extracting from the earholes their utmost attentions, choosing in its viciously pointed attack the classic method of searing through the core even as the outlying complexity of interlacing backwash attempts to distract from the fact that ‘holes are getting utterly scorched into oblivion. I wouldn’t call this terribly violent, more singularly, clinically, focused on ensuring that the remaining three tapes in this set will be played for significantly depleted receptor follicle thingies. At a key interval, the backwash starts to howl into open-aired bleed sirens, snatches of voice or ripped electronics propelling more visceral exchanges among the competing masses of nerve-wracked overtones.

Volume 4
Spirals I and II consume the whole of this tape, which on first hit could be taken as palate-cleansing dive into white-sheeted walls of purtinannical psyche-seethe. Layers of the shit, icy-smooth and impenetrable, caught in the thick of the jetstream, dense squalls obliterating any sense of forward movement even as more nuanced agitations compete at the periphery for attention. In the first Spiral an irregular coruscation of low-end thunder-bulge rolls through the all-consuming mass, the net effect of which is simply to remind the listener that, yes, but nothing is getting through. In Spiral the second, a slight narrowing of scope, occasional glimmers of definition emerging in the convergence of component parts, the metallic abrasiveness countered by low-lying rocket-shrines shredding the ozone, the stench of well-scorched hole heavy in the air. At this point one would expect things to move in a slightly different direction, an expectation gloriously borne out in the next volume of the set.

Volume 5
Trip Melt Flesh could be the most classically harsh head ritual-esque of the bunch, at least in the opening seconds. Here full-flavored clusters of bottom-heavy bilge flatulate through crunched-out rumble-loads, all but guaranteeing the speakers the work-out they so desperately crave. Soon, however,  an exceedingly nasty fit of jaggedly jerking rust-skewer ruptures the dead-center, hacking and slashing at already mangled nerve-endings, significantly upping the harsh stakes. Crunched-out rumble-loads start now to indulge a more rocket-flavored consistency, thundering in indignation, opening up to freshly skinned contusions of raw-textured abrasion, surprisingly well-defined in the cold glaring light, ugly as fuck, and just, well, sick. The brilliance is in the cyclic progression, returning again and again in waves that at every crest signal an ever-greater propensity for face-melting over-violence, the ultimate promise, the commitment to ‘hole cleansing ferocity par FIRE.

High Voltage Face Removal is nothing less than more of the same. This time, however, all the multifold layers are peeled back, flayed from the bone, raw exposed nerves agonizing in the dry shrieking sado-bliss. Almost nothing remains in the char-blistered, ripped-to-shit, aftermath, mutilated electronic asphyxiations barely choking through tightly constricted apertures of broken glass and metal filings. A minimalist breakdown, in other words, and one which soon signals a renewed drive for massed overbilge of ratcheted-up cantanker, born in bass-bludgeoned filth-dispensers. Or so I would

dead silence

To the home-stretch, and a tense back-n-forth with grizzled blister-sludge, the un-ironic low-end crud-belchings clambering piling surging over one another in a final red-rimmed cluster-fuck, the shrieking tease, the flushed-through bristle, the face clean scoured off, the bone-dry remnants grinning in char-blackened incandescence.

Intermission
I’d just like to take this moment to concede that, at this point in space-time, the earholes are, quite frankly, in no condition to faithfully report their findings. They haven’t been for a good few sides now. I’m now at that rather disturbing point where everything is harsh. Everything. Even fucking silence. But hey, just one more tape to go. Can’t possibly get any worse now can it?


Volume 6
It would be hard not to invoke the Almighty Hasegawa when a title like Cosmic Mirror drops. Definitely on the rocket shrine side of the harsh tip, on that deep and abiding psych insinuation, on that ghostly reverberant mass of strangely, say it, soothing coruscation, sweetly escorting the poor abused ‘holes to their promised, cyclopean, armageddon. Look in the mirror motherfucker, see the Hasegawa look right back at you, baleful, unblinking, glassy-eyed, psyched to the fucking gills, the sound of the sea amplified to larger-than-life monoliths of pure, cleansing, fury. Look, I'll admit I've been going a tad diarrhetic even by my own diarrhetic standards, so I hope you'll pardon me while I just…

….

….

….

blissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssout.

Cosmic Mirror II and a deepening of the psychedelic bliss, the never-bottoming sub-layers blessed with the increasingly harshed, glistening, wet-mouthed, salivation. This is simply huge, bigly arsed, all-consuming, dense distortions like expansive explosiveness drawn out for eternities of heavenly bilge-headed cataclysms, the Category Six bludgeon-scorch. In the closing moments a tentative attempt to sex things up, or perhaps the ill-sexed bilge-head caught in the drunkenly zippered disregard. That’s gotta hurt. Regardless, this is such a perfection of texture and flow, forty-two-odd Elkbrews fueling forty-two-odd rocket shrines hellbent in their pursuit of the ultimate question. How many times must a perv shred hole before he’s fucked for life? The answer, my friend, just blow it out your ass. The answer just blow it out your ass.


Digest spew
Now that’s what I call harsh head ritual. Three hours and change of never flagging Sewer ERECTION, six-fold amplifications roaring riot through cyclopean jetstreams, torrential electronic blizzards blazing to that cataclysmic Category Six. Through it all, an impressively diverse range of aptitude, verging far and wide among the blown out vistas, diving deep into the ear-drilling shriek-holes, plumbing the crunch-depths, scorching the psych-skies, wringing from the harsh head every ritual energy it's worth. Improvised, he says, improvised and remixed and staking in the constant shift and change of the moment a fly-by-the-seat-of-yer-soiled-panties immediacy, the repeated punchings-through of yet-still-harsher-eruptions absolutely obliterating even the teeniest suggestion of complacency, a palpable, physical, blood-soaked, ritual air, living, breathing, choking, squealing, blood guts shit piss pus cum vomit elkbrews unidentified secretions, unhinged rippage on some Uppeth Ye Harsh shit, squeal boy, fucking squeal, naked sacrifice tied to upsidedown crosses and blood everywhere.
« Last Edit: July 08, 2020, 07:21:42 PM by Bloated Slutbag » Logged

Someone weaker than you should beat you and brag
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urall
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« Reply #7993 on: July 08, 2020, 10:32:17 PM »

You sir are truly the king of reviews.
Must hear this new SE asap.
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SILVUM
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« Reply #7994 on: July 11, 2020, 02:49:58 AM »

CON-DOM - Oh Ye Of Little Faith 7" Tesco
The Madonna sample.
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