Årabrot
Solar Anus

SUN=ASS

Clear and limpid. (Norway I fucking love you part nth). Just as it is clear that there's something wrong in Norway. Ridiculous hypothesis no.1: finding car door handles every morning drives these guitar-bearing (and coughing) Norwegians insane, making them scream into the night which really isn’t night but morning, producing monstrous sounds. Hypothesis that's not so ridiculous no.1/bis: the cold freezes the balls of the aforementioned N. who can’t wait to warm them up using instruments intended to create music that burns the face of the unfortunate who opens the package, takes the disc, and places it in the hi-fi system.

The Årabrot are definitely suited to the second hypothesis. For sure. Don’t believe it? Listen to them. Even Steve Albini noticed.

If the Melvins still had mud in their hair, they'd write a song like "Solaranus", murky just enough, with that touch of schizoidry that should be present in every respectable Melvins’ piece, intoning words like these in the key of King Buzzo minor: "I scream I am Jesuve I am life parodic I scream I am Jesuve in a life erotic in which the intact anus of her body at eighteen years old to which nothing can be compared except the sun". The rhythm is slowness, inevitability, with the guitar swaying on a monotonous riff and ending in electronic sounds made of vapor and disease, of infected metallurgies, culminating in a tribal voodoo drum ritual. And then there was the Title: "Madonna Was A Whore". Spouting a list of names, for example, Mother Teresa, Eve, Minerva, Mata Hari, leading up to say (insert the Title of the song) and repeating it amidst blasts of straight and nasty dirty guitar. And when doom gets pissed off, in come the blue sirens of "Nubile" that starts with guitar slashes and soon turns into stop'n'go that makes you dance a spooky voice/howling torn to pieces, where electronics whistle in noise nails from one ear to the other. A nice series of massive drum rounds introduces the siderurgical planks of "The Wheel Is Turning In Full Circle", interspersed with crazy skids, and tons of phlegm in the throats, desperation by the handful, and electrogenic monuments that rise in the middle of the infernal catharsis of a six-string (I believe) donating anxiety in abundance. 

Oh, right...did I tell you not to listen to the sun with your ears uncovered? No? No big deal, now you’re just deaf.