Feb 18, 2009

It’s as much feel – the tones of the instruments – as much as how they’re played, flayed, and serrated. Only those with brave ears need apply. The first three songs plong out like an intergalactic meatloaf; they grind up big, thick slabs of sound, slather and stew it in a blood red sauce, choke it with pepper and sonic voodoo spices, and have it clog and chog in their colons for about a month. The music’s all chunky, splattering, heavy, and intentionally irritating. It’s hard artcore that ice skates through sludge – somehow remaining crisp in the morass. Fans of Kylesa, Tragedy, Men’s Recovery Project, the movie Brazil, or a good old-fashioned ear-whooping won’t be disappointed. The fourth song, “Folded Space: Mapping Unexploded Ordinance,” is a monologue by a robotic voice backed by dying seagull synthesizers – that I suspect is chock full of subliminal messages – about a mega battle (and eventual triumph) against giant squids, destructive floods, dying so many times that the narrator finds it tedious, and the power of a smile at the end of the day. As a post script, I finally figured out where they got their name. In Florida, they have license plates with Combat Wounded Veteran stamped into the metal. We can close the book on that mystery.

 –todd (No Idea)

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