In these frustrating days of media saturation, the approach of these lads is anonymity and self-imposed seclusion. This fits perfectly into my aesthetic of deliberate mystification, or maybe they cannot find their way out of the basement because they are sending radio waves to ancient galaxies through a ham radio they rigged from a broken microwave oven they found in a creek. Either way,I am ravenous to infiltrate the Kabal. The tape blisters through at 8 minutes with six songs and not a sub-second is wasted. The only reference point I can conjure is the Urinals, as if that whim is somehow relevant. Inverse of the shrouding of identity, the music is exactly the opposite. They make a land grab and are settling in for a bit. This would perfectly in 1982 but I doubt they were born before 92. Major points for historical awareness. The rhythm barrels along while solos are interspersed at six second intervals, desperately played like a blur between a jerry lee richard piano solo and a fevered banjo picker who lives in an Appalachian cave. Alien insectoid Vocals. A Residents and Night Fever pair of renditions square it out. Listening, I am informed my eyes are in a militant glare with a spooky goof mouthgrin. If I could find these tapes I would buy them all and give them to people who believe stoner rock is an actual thing. I just bruised my ankle doing a jig and I
can't finish my coffee, even it's my first mug. Total ContRole, it'll be.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jSBSYNPRxvo
--Michael Montagano
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