Genre: Noise / Power Electronics
01 Feeding The Most Delicate Chrysanthemum
02 Writing A Haiku While Waiting For The Ambulance
03 My Personality Is Getting Acclimated To Braces
04 Josh Hydeman Can Read Your Mind
05 Crows Screaming In Well Lit Mirrors
06 Swimming With An Electric Blanket
07 An Allergic Reaction To Ultra Violet Tays
Knowing Josh Hydeman collaborates regularly with male rape psychos Two Dead
Sluts One Good Fuck, I imagined nothing less than a blast of filth and piss
before putting this CD-R to play. A smile drew on my face as I was laying on
the couch, thinking of the sick dudes that are still doing stuff like this,
as primitive as shitting on the woods, as depraved as sutcliffe jugend
playing live on a kindergarden.
The record is quite irregular, which can be seen a consequence of some
different ideas pulled together in such limited lenght. Some may see this as
default, others as an excess. I see it as a logical manifestation of brain
damaged electronics, an unbalanced manifesto of short fuck off nīloud.
"Josh Hydeman Can Read Your Mind" consists of seven stormy slabs of
hate-filled meat and bone, virulent discharges of pus and testosterone,
frenetic teeth-spitter noise. some of the ideas could easily be more
developed, and I would be really curious to see how some would work on a
longer release. spasmodic, yet monotonous in its nature, thatīs the idea
The music is as unsettling as some of the evoked images; imobilized mind
facing its inner inability to explore something than its own body, like a
child discovering the joy of daddyīs old VHS. Nastiness as recollection of
memories, but also a strange, wicked, sense of humour present throughout the
record and on the titles.
Letīs keep on with that smile.
The CD-R I am holding does not have any artwork, so I can only but imagine
it. Maybe a disemboweled vietnamese with some flowers on top, a photo of a
stomach tumour or a badly drawn grandmaīs pubic hair.
On with the music again, "Feeding The Most Delicate Chrysanthemum" evokes a
strange delicate feeling, a monotonous black-metal-on-suspension vibe,
short, eerie, like a spasm of voodoo.
"Writing A Haiku While Waiting For The Ambulace" is seriously damaged over
the top feedback vomiting and verbal abuse, poetic disruption of skin, a
blast of all things ugly.
Then comes "My Personality Is Getting Acclimated To Braces", loop nīscream
obsession of bitterness and collapse, ejaculation / rewind, ejaculation
The title track is more subtle in its devastation. starting with repeated
blasts it evolves to heart-beat-like confessional whispers, disturbing,
terminal. Wasteland inheritance, post-mortem spoken word.
"Crows Screaming In Well Lit Mirrors" brings to mind the poetic, minimal
style of some of prurientīs output, synth simplification of being,
trepanation styled screams like a newborn craving for darkness, again.
"Swimming With An Electric Blanket" pierces with infected movements, third
world hospital mode on, a savage captive beep, cannibals eating cannibals
The final track, "An Allergic Reaction To Ultra Violet Rays" condensates the
collapse, disintegrates all that has been built before.
This brief discharge summons faceless corpses, 50 year old nocturnal
hunters, meth girls, lollipops and teenage hercules. When there are no more
piercing objects to subject ourselves to torture, maybe all we have left are
images, premonitions of that bloodless body laid to rest near the dirty
corner of some unexplored area.
aA a whole, it surely is nothing really new, or groundbreaking, or balanced
at least. I aprreciate its sincerity though, all the excesses, the sharped
fists and rusty erections, all tools of the trade collected in a single
Force fed electronics by bicep covered phallic cyclops. Pure audial sodomy.