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❝ “Hissing Prigs In Static Couture” plays through the headphones. The blender noise doesn’t bother him.
❝ Beyond the falconing naive/modernist impact, sketched in dazzling multicolored shades, the sonically epidermic distinctive trait can be seen in the melodically/raucous (truly formidable) vocalist and mastermind of the Brainiac project, Timmy Taylor: “corrupt”, improbable, askew, scarred melodies, at times inhumanly filtered through who knows what unwieldy distorting gadgets: listen in this sense, perhaps to the most significant episode of the entire (sub)human collection, the devastated/ting “I Am A Cracked Machine": 4 minutes and 34 seconds of “pop” devolutionist/visionary madness: one of the most flaming examples of what “truly alternative rock” should/could be if credible (and how difficult it actually is to find now, more than ever) across the Atlantic and beyond.
❝ The problem (so to speak, “obviously”) with these wave-noisers from the Nineties is the fact that they are not “rated” at all.
❝ That’s the mood permeating the album. A devilishly tasteless prank.
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