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Rating:
It's easy to say "make some noise"!
Take that little bottle full of amphetamines and throw it into a damaged amplifier that sparks repeatedly so you can get Lightning Bolt. How great to have a band, to be just two, and seem like a march of caterpillars that couldn't care less about us poor defenseless elementary school class crossing the street at that very moment, with our poor virgin ears and hats to protect us from the laser beams coming from their headlights in a war cry.
Arriving at the fifth work there's still that terroristicmusical vein that hurts so much when you go to see them live and find them among people reaping victims. "Sound Guardians" is what they are, the bass drugged to the extreme with distortions becomes a huge assault guitar and lies on the stomps of the drums until it reaches convulsive and broken rhythms, a stone's throw from your ears ready to deceive you with the initial silence of "Colossus" which moves slowly and irresistibly like an elephant, growing and growing until it ends, goodbye. You don't even have time to adapt to the slaps when an acid concoction in delayca sauce arrives with the chants of a holy Indian guru stuffed with LSD of "Flooded Chamber", an expansion of crazy nerves in debilitating whistles that vents its HC itches in "Funny Farm", which also gives us a nice """country""" interlude where the bass doesn't fill the ears but hums a little song of the happy farm of pain, until it returns to slap you on the teeth because you got distracted, and now you're in the middle of a rodeo riding an angry black pink Godzilla that reappears at the end of the record on "Transimissionary" while it runs to demolish the city with its electric sewer sludge advance, twelveminutesofpuredestruction.
What's the point of telling you? It hurts!
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