Crash Worship
Triple Mania II

THE REVIEW

Fierce idolaters of the most dark, pagan, union/clash of the indefinable acoustic, the San Diego, caustic, deconstructors Crash Worship, were a miraculous, spasmodic, audio-collective composed of two "keyboardists/noise-makers", three clangorous and tribal percussionists, various "singers" and animators, hence the sound-conductor, Jeff Mattson (who "self-celebrates" in the delirious "Bring Me The Head Of J. M.") on the "mega-lyre" (a kind of distorted, excessively elongated harp); in and since the late eighties they represent(ed), with no marginality of error, one of the most bizarre, unintelligible, and masterfully "OUT" audio (and visual) outfits ever produced by the (quite) underground stars and stripes panorama.

Not so much and not only for the potential (although abundantly present) roaring ferocities contained therein, but for the absolutely delirious free form-ness of the bewildering sonic, fluid yet substantial (anti)matter coined and placed in vitae. A truly satisfying underlying non-classifiability, composed of a maladjustment sense of impending audio-apocalypse (humorous?), a sort of (de)generation percussionist-acoustic state - to the bradesque-state - contained in this unique "real" studio testimony, dated 1995. It should be noted (to avoid possible misunderstandings) that our mechanical-worshippers of the Ballardian explosions, on rigid physical and portable support, manage to expose (estimate unfortunately made in excess) a miserable 60% of the real audio-dismantling potential perceived, in the now distant 1997, incredulously, with the private and astonished eavesdropping ears.
Despite and aware of this, this (truly) maudit (to put it in Tarantino's terms) Volume II Triple-Maniac - of which, of course, there is no first episode - initially baffles and intimidates, only in the second, nth instance does it tend to repay, with substantial interest, greatly: the overall and complex (as well as hyper-compressed) acoustic delirium/martyrdom leaves one quite astonished: contortionistic as much as decerebrated, martyrizing percussive/lysergic mixtures combined and fragmented with improbable noises (sometimes created with the sole aid of) guttural: excruciating grunts, mutterings, whistles, gurgles of (perhaps) animalistic and/or non-terrestrial nature. It seems to intra-hear, in the more distinguishable and understandable moments, a kind of very-alternative, filthy Tambours Du Bronx in low-fi key (from depths), electrostatically crushed and under heavy effect/dependence of who knows which, unknown, hallucinogenic and psychotropic substances. "Night Shoe" fundamentally an (extremely) pagan audio-ritual, ignites (and burns itself, literally) by determined/disorganized repeated percussiveness and enchanting boiling audio-matter developed: it seems like witnessing (in music) a magmatic, volcanic audio-eruption. "Triple Mania I" (the track) sounds like a happy melting pot of nocturnal, noise-making ancestral tribalities, mixed with copious acoustic doses of unnameable and unheard instrumental-effects, rather than a simple and perceptibly-auditory piece, a disorienting extra-sensory experience.

Those who had the pleasure and fortune to appreciate them in activity effectively defined them as "bearers" of the most "(s)car(e)ngaging" (musical) show on planet Earth: therefore subtracting the already explicited (also visual, besides sound-colliding) 40%, we get this disconcerting, apocalyptic, anarchic, Multi-maniac work. And that's not little, I assure you.