A band of crazy cows from Minneapolis. The Cows proudly belong to that strand of bands that, starting from garage and raw rock'n'roll, plunged into the maelstrom of the most violent noise distortions, with the inevitable lesson of punk and, now and then, some slowdown of a blues matrix so deformed as to be unrecognizable or entirely new, nonetheless. And they didn’t forget an iconoclastic amateurish pride, a fury expressed amidst the shit, the provocative passion for playing music badly, ostensibly, ugly. And annoying. I say ostensibly because, amid the noise, with guitars that are pure dissonant and senseless background, there are rock'n'roll/garage/punk tracks that are excellent rock'n'roll/garage/punk tunes like "Sieve," "Yellowbelly," and "Mother (I Love That Bitch)," to name a few. There’s the fun of playing songs that seem like a joke for being so crooked and poorly made, and they truly are entertaining (and that little trumpet that pops up every now and then, all wrong, how great; and the genius cover of Philip Glass? Beautiful, I mean, hideous). Of course, if someone said to me, "What is this crap?" they would have every reason, and probably one has to be crazy to appreciate them, but so it goes... This debut album of theirs, one of the most twisted and mad in their discography, is the best possible business card for the music of the Cows from Minneapolis.
- Love (02)
- Hate (00)
-
(00)
-
(00)
