Oh wonderful! No! Truly! Sophisticated garbage core, prose in putrefaction. sounds like Shitnoise come cruddy Noisecore with improvised Jazz conjunction (blasty, random, tangential drums from Chris Pitsiokos), bad Albert Ayler antiphonics (cheap reads abuse from Isaiah Richardson ) & scratty ill-incongruence discord on guitar & bass courtesy of a Mr. Richard Lenz (reminiscent of Sharrock shred in some instances). Insalubrious, unpalatable, perturbed, unstable, badly besmirched. & the poisoned cherry on the fatal compound – vocalist Samantha Riot- dishing dollops of hyper-cynical emesis, rye, expecting the worst & plastered in cicatrix tissue from stewing in New Yorx multi-dimensional feculence over years. Pretty impressive- wracked, on the verge, melting-down, wearing away. Well-articulated, greatly acerbic & in a dramatic twist of juxtaposition – well composed & placid- despite the hysterical sentiments, subject & contrasting to the clarion from the three musicians quarter. It chimes as an abrasively emphatic renouncing & disparagement of NY, but also of the modern urban environ – it’s a somewhat blistering tirade & veteran vituperation. Funny yet again, cos’ the chick rends into the soft under-belly of the city with such savagery & disdain, but with the geographical distinction & unique lingo that only a native New Yorker could exhibit. So the city can take great pride in the manner it’s daughter goes about clawing it’s innards out in some kind of perverse circle of love hate. Honestly, to have someone so astutely talking about how much these great urban epicenters fucking suck & prey on their inhabitants is very pertinent. The assault & loss our cities inflict rarely permeates the gloss & pretense (certainly to this level) despite it’s expanse, volume & toll. Certainly a fine piece of work from this four-piece. Vocals aside, it’s residing destination is something like a strand of Noisecore (foreseeably bracketed as “Post Punk”) but I expect the crew have arrived at this mannerism without any exposure to the latter. A welcome objurgation of metropolitan malaise, dusted with sass, served on a fracas blatter of fighting stray-dogs.
Label: Self Sabotage Records