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Rating: "Intelligence and Sacrifice."
This is what music requires today. Sacred Words.
But from whom? And above all: where?
No answer.
I love Europe. I swear.
I like it because sometimes you find that seal of origin you belong to, branded right into you: you scrutinize it, protect it, clean it and if necessary hide it, but in this particular album, "INTELLIGENCE & SACRIFICE", I seem to perceive everything (or almost everything), except that "brand" that Mr. Empire so roughly attempts to explain.
Thirteen pieces of pure steel, left there to rust, to perish among the frost of a continent on its last legs (allow me the allusion), waiting for a generation bearing the standards of retrospection to integrally confront the contents of what proved to be the newborn offspring of the deceased mother ATARI-T-R.
A packaged product. Black, with luminescent variations tending to chrome, only to attract larks in search of pounding self-destructive rhythms intended to bypass (as well as mislead) what is believed to be the daily reality. Lead monoliths, launched at such speeds as to torture the 220 bpm, lacerate and obstruct through a propagandist voice that warns and informs the kind clientele of being aware of secrets bordering on mysticism such as "Everything Starts With A Fuck", where one realizes that (indeed) life is generated by orgiastic motions of cyclic television repetition and otherwise. Equally buried decadence references, found in "Killing Machine", shatter expectations of detachment from the "pro-Nazi-holocaust-Berlin" trend, clearly perceptible and inserted by the author into contexts both post-modern and out of place.
A Naive Hardcore compilation to make the best Dutch DJs jealous.
Even praised to the point of groupie-ism in Japan.
A decline.
An ocean of confusion, perhaps dictated by a lack of ideas (or by Ketamine?), resulting particularly unlistenable in critical and cognitive modes.
A communicative disaster, incongruent, destined for pure and simple civil inattention.
A "Nine Inch Nailsian" abortion borrowed to be subjected to gruesome and unknowingly capitalistic experiments in the era of "Music-Disco-Pasta-Spasmo-Sperm" House.
An icon from the Super Trash Market.
In concluding its approach, one finds themselves drenched in emptiness.
Adrift along the line of continuous un-waiting.
Lost in nursery rhymes that no longer make any sense.
TRANS-EUROPE-DECEASE.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
08 Addicted to You (03:51)
Verse:
Doesn't matter what I believe
Doesn't matter what I believe
You mess me up and I want you to hear
Got it right back and I want you to hear
When you walk, when you talk
you're so full of lies
excuse me
When I'm gonna die
I don't care what you're like
Doesn't feel like you
Chorus:
I'm addicted to you
I'm addicted to you
I'm addicted to you
Cos you get me through x 2
Verse:
The first injection wasn't free
Doesn't matter what I believe
Doesn't matter what I believe
There ain't no station
It ain't no fiction what I believe
It ain't no fiction what I believe
Staring at New York City
Missing those the ones I hate
Compensate
Alienation
The new centre of my renewed faith is too late
Chorus
I want you to hear
You mess me up and I want you to hear
Doesn't matter what I believe
Doesn't matter what I believe
I'm addicted to you x3
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Other reviews
By Rivo
"An album deliberately not for everyone, which seems to challenge the listener: come on, tell me you hate me and you’ll destroy my CD by throwing it in the toilet."
"Behind this deafening sound machine lies enormous work in the recording studio, given that there is not a single sample in all the tracks present."
