Guttersnipe – My Mother The Vent

Upset The Rhythm

Well, this baby smacks you in the face with its furnace-like enthusiasm in an impenetrable feast of guitar, drums and yelling from the Leeds duo Guttersnipe. If you’ve seen them live, you’ll be happy to hear that that self-same ferocity is bleeding out of this release unimpeded. Upset The Rhythm are defo looking in all the right places and this feels like the perfect antidote to all that harmonised claptrap masquerading as entertainment these days.

With its skating frets and animalist u-bends, My Mother The Vent seduces. The drums powder-bombing the canvas as the evils chase their own tails around and around, then around some more, rupturing in irrational raucousness. “Like My Voice Was Holothurin” is a mad spiney beast trapped inside a church bell, spizzing out on Blue Sabbath Black Fiji-like acidics and unintelligible shrieks, then shivering in waspy warp. I’d love to stick this in a stuffy politician’s head and watch the greyness go ping. There’s your Brexit right there, ladies and gents!

Man, this is magnificent: Guttersnipe mangle your manganese in distorted wah-ha as the odd bit of intelligible keyboard judders to the surface, only to quickly quicksand into a whirly whirred wigged-out that cherrys the monitors — not to mention the histrionics that actually sound even more hysterical than they did a moment ago (how is this possible?).

Man, this is intense: they mischief your skittering skull with its riches, those breath-taking volcanics and exploding flour bags; it even strips away the screamadelics for a while to showcase those giddy guitar dexturals.

Then the jujutsu tangle of “Pipa Pipa Portalspawn” is served with a dash of malfunctioning frogspawn; honestly, no namby-pamby half-measures here. A statement the ten minutes of “God’s Will To Gain Access” fully endorses in a dense cement-mixer-spin-dry -arms’n’legs-akimbo-type-situation that drills into manic drumming and straw-sucked electronic wows. A truly tormented sound perfect for All Hallow’s Eve that epics itself into to a monstrous pile of sizzling shapes to space-rock out of the other side in liquefied lumps.

DIY never tasted so vital.

-Michael Rodham-Heaps-