A mild introduction that opens to the raspy slaps of “Grey Meat,” a curmudgeon that clumsily knocks into drawers full of cutlery franked by Gnostic monk moans. Then moments later it’s jumping out of the fire extinguisher smoke going headlong into a percussive jumble sale alive in electronic spatters, buckets of the spastic bric-a-brac. A riot routing ringware, smashing sticks into its chromium forehead. Some hot hot damage of cromagnon magnitude, maimed in whirry-chuff backwardness , ending at a pleasing 12 minutes 14 seconds. Some truly great butchered vibes here, and they haven’t finished yet.
The mouthful of a third track (“A man that could look no way but downwards, with a muck-rake in his hand”) kicks in a de-frag test card of machine hiccups, a junking of clapped-out clatter, spurting circuitry, singed wiring. Roaring multiples freeform tied to some approximation of drumming, a percussive nightmare that goes off on a “Foot Village” roar and heavy tribal thuds interspersed with the gnawing teeth of shredders, staplers and god knows what else. An un-holiness that takes your breath away. Energy, that 14mins in, shows no abatement as the canvas is rubbed raw, beaten further to a pulp, abused in various power tools. The 4 x 4’s curling gears and muted screams. A filthy nouveau industrial jam to die for, shuffling out on its own death throes some 19mins later.A family with a strange notion of drone indeed… Fucking brilliant!!!
-Michael Rodham-Heaps-
