From the oppressing realms of a virus addled scenario reason has taken a one-way ticket to oblivion, madness has decided to move into the vacant house next door and good old Father Irrational has started exposing himself on the streets again.  Whilst this nonsense is transpiring a new band has sprung into life laden with their own flavour of noise built on many years of experience.  Who the fuck this 3-piece are I am 2/3rd's baffled, where they come from I know only too well and what they plan on achieving is anyone's guess.  I have 3 tracks dangled before my ever-gaping maw and, as ever, I adopt the role of assessor with the usual ethics applied and the clutch at elusive insight done with great belief.  I clamp on and partake, after much mastication here is what I cough back up as way of a review.

'Don't Let It Go' tumbles in with good impetus, stops and starts before going with a strong tidal wave and therefore making one sit up and take note.  Familiar vocal tones come, the crispness of the guitar and the underlying bass solidity help embolden the delivery with the stick work brisk and happening.  For me the most triumphant aspect is the liquidity of movement, especially so when we slip from verse to chorus and back again.  Good energy is emanated for the surge, the positivity found is more than adequate and the middle break is coherent, complimentary and enhancing.   This is, without doubt, a very good composition, I am duly salivating, bring on track 2, (or indeed the next titty).

From twilight avenues of acoustic investigations emerges the second track, a more thoughtful and perhaps less natural number as a result.  'Abandon Ship' relies more on atmosphere and melody and in some ways outweighs its predecessor but in others just doesn't capture that 'hang loose' naturalness and fluency.  The change in style is subtle but noticeable and, may it be said, necessary.  More care is taken via the lugs to pick up on the nebulous motif and general angle - in some ways I am convinced although the inner pause is unnecessary and one or two moments could just do with some extra wallop.  The run to the finish is clean and cutting and leaves things on a good note - I move on with a 60/40 stance taken.

The trailing tune of the trio is a pip, namely 'Change To Colour'.  We get a fine blend of looking back, wondering, accepting the shit end of the stick and then finding salvation.  The song resounds with reality soaked ruggedness, embraces the general failure of the whole shebang but hangs on to that which gives true hope.  The verses are well-chopped, have a good slap and wire manipulation with the chorus a breezy intercut of open spaciousness and well blown tonality.  This is a good healthy episode of sound with the only niggle the back-end baggage that just labours the point instead of letting things be full stopped and leave one wanting more - ah the joys of being an awkward Fungal bastard.

So 3 songs, 3 titbits to tease the seekers of new noisy nipples.  The paps are dangled, go forth and drink and see if the lactated liquid is to thy taste - I am back on the tit for sure, it keeps me intrigued and has served me well for many a year – suckle fuckin’ suckle! 



You want DIY, you want reality, you want raw and real noise - well drop your underwear and let the Legless Crabs nip at your nether regions.  I have removed the said scrotal cradling duds, I have been pinched by the pincers, I have come out the worse for wear but hey, needs must.  From Dallas, Texas we get a dive-bombing team of deliberately awkward gits not playing by the rules and chucking out the clanging detritus with great belief.   The fodder here will certainly turn some stomachs and be deemed a waste of time, I think many miss the point. I however, if I hate or love, have admiration or am appalled, am always happy to indulge and try and unravel matters.

'(I Wanna Be) Teargassed' - comes, speaks, belches up some heavy vibes and relates a tale of being invaded and threatened by certain warped powers that be.  The victim ponders the outcome, goes for the more perverse route and shows a cracked delight in his potential downfall.  The music made amid the pseudo cum epileptic poetry is treacly and dolloped down with almost reckless abandon.   The overall formula may seem from a mind deranged, I think there is a method in the madness and am intrigued enough to venture forth.

'Redneck Scott McCloud' throb heaves with big filthy reverb rapings coming via maulers of heavy intent.  A slow stated and sedated gloop scoop that is left to drip into your open maw and destined to suffocate any decency you may have inside of you.  This is a dirty death dirge planned for people on the brink of doom, it is those who feel fine and dandy I have greatest fears for.  Stick with it though folks, a gathering of tonal facets comes and some good noise is made, albeit a little too late to save the construction and to give one any idea as to what the fuck is going on.  'Ed Flesh' is a neurosis of the nerve centre gone 'fuck'.  The discharge that seeps from the spiracles of the crawling creature is reeking, oozed out on purpose and done so with a vindictive spite.  The Legless Crabs are as sinister as their beach-dwelling counterparts and just as feisty.  You dear listener are the bare buttocks that are to be lowered onto the sonic sandy substrate whilst the music makers here are the awaiting clawed bastards ready to cause upset - and upset they do - and with a modicum of unorthodox success.  We duly fuzz-spazz outward!

'Stevie Part 1' is a countrified homage to who knows who?  It is an interlude from the toxic tonal violence, it deals with an oddball, a man on the outside and stuck in his own world with numerous felines and shitty fashion sense - there is always one isn't there, thank fuckin' goodness.  I find this one the most disturbing track so far - I think that says a lot.

'Turd Immunity' is pertinent, bordering on being a proper song and hits home withclod-hopping crap-kicking intent.  The virus under the spotlight is examined, the beat in the laboratory is accompanied by mis-firing, wank wiring eggheads all probing and making experiments and coming up with a conclusion of 'fuck it'.  The mush muck bubbles over the tampered with test tube and spills onto the floor of your eavesdropping substrate and mindlessly burns a hole.  Fuckin' hell!

'Plastic Babylon' slug-jerks along over terrain regularly uneven and somewhat repetitive.  This is the closest we have got to something deemed 'normal' thus far and, I suspect, in many cases, folk will be grateful.  I find this slow reflection a counterpunch to what has transpired, a paradoxical fly in the ointment albeit in reverse.  The cold calculated delivery holds horror-tones, disregards the masses, considers a weaponisation and goes on regardless.  A lengthy offering this, the question is...can you take it?

'Stevie Pt 2' - a veritable dustbin lid cruelty that fails to offer any shining light or sonic salvation.  Akin to an embryonic plucker still learning the art of rhythm and arrangement this is a jerky annoyance that really nips at all the wrong attentive areas - I am mighty glad when it's over.  'No Way, No Wave' comments, corrupts, jazz wanks this way and that from a recess best described as 'angular'.  From a primitive neanderthal clatter an opposing dip into a trough of serenity comes thus highlighting once more how the Legless Crabs are immersed in the art form of relating trashy Tales of the Unexpected.  There are many meritorious points here, things to think about and be troubled by - I think that is the aim of this latest adventure - ooh the pesky irritants.  The follow up to this niggler is 'No Way, No Wave (Reprise)', a discordant heaving that splutter coughs from demonic Hell with the intent designed to upset, confound and cripple.  The cymbal shocks reverberate, the insane utterances defy, the pause after the opening burst is simply ad hoc and followed by a driller-killer invasion and beep-addled sci-fi disturbance.  The mentally ill whisperings are not for the faint hearted, I am left deranged.

'Long Gone Death Cult Blues' pangs, pains, progresses in the usual dirty garage way with more rhythm initially found.  Eventually a sonic blow-out clouds any sign of melody, repeatoid self-abuse chants finalise matters and are banished into a spiralling void of eternal mental anguish.  This is an interesting cutlet from a madman in a laboratory - what monsters are made, what cranial havoc caused?  The penultimate track offers no respite with the sub-chug journey both on the cusp of a derailment and bound to send the head AWOL.  Psyche-trance propulsions swirl and chop through the cerebral juices as 'Touchy Talk' parades itself in the most vulgar disjointed manner possible.  The inner core of orthodox normality is raped by a patternation of insulting swishes that makes for an end product both cracked but with some hidden qualities.   These qualities are elusive, strange and of an accent that is 'testing'.  Something snarls, snags and surprises - I will remain as nebulous as the noise.

We close with 'Stevie pt 3' - an abomination of colliding sounds borne from the techno-studio, the industrial future and the great outdoors.  All aspects fight for the foreground, collide into one mucky mush and leave one feeling dishevelled, degraded and damned.  Space age aromas pervade the sniffing hooter that at this stage, should know better.  I feel as though the journey is destined to end in a collision, the collision being the ultimate silence - I am now suffering from jet-lag of a very extra-terrestrial kind.

Well, I have stuck at it and made myself unwell in the process ha, ha.  I am a stickler for hanging in with vibrations from folk who are having a go though and although this is not a CD I can rave about the fact is it has been done, has avoided following routine and has some surprising elements.  The only way I can suggest this is to take a small snippet, chew well and see what you think - you may spit or swallow and even invest further time - either way, you have my best wishes. 

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