Nice Face
Immer Etwas

Immer Etwas by Nice Face is electro post-punk. Big Black and Suicide in the orderly progression, Screamers in the synthetic instrumentation and martial rhythms, a good dose of Jesus and Mary Chain in the overall abrasive sound, Ramones-like sound scattered around, with a distinctly garage-rock and lo-fi feel.
What makes me write, however, is that accompanying the radicalism of the aforementioned bands (others could also be added) is an additional touch of melodicism, a minimal, electronic, intelligent melodicism, delivered through a fresh and measured synth-pop component; if that wasn't enough, there's an atmosphere that is not cold/cyberpunk/futuristic as might be expected, but a surprising dusty '70s sound. In short, 'na robetta (just a little stuff).

Everything seems as if it's filtered through one big fuzz pedal: the guitars are so fuzzed that it feels like you're exclusively within a jungle of organs and synths (though these are still present), and this, aided by the punk vibe, makes the sound less nuanced and more "homogenized," at the expense of a certain "complexity" (which would have undoubtedly been more banal) and in favor of a dominant minimalism. Further supporting this, the "low-fi" component is taken to a paroxysmal level, often resulting in very little of the track actually being conveyed.

The monolithic sound somehow flows into the mantra, into abandonment (but punk, therefore unhealthy).

Opposing this is the schizophrenic nature of this music that, when least expected, from the orderly yet uneasy martial rhythm, explodes into epileptic and very brief "solos" shot at hundreds of volts.

The sensation that remains after listening is one of geometric order: large metal polygons fractured and permeated by continuous electric shocks making their way through the sugary interstitial liquid.

From a conceptual point of view, there is a kind of short circuit (keeping with the theme): on one side, the genre, tending towards industrial, sometimes leads to post-industrial neurosis scenarios with people annihilated by illusion and alienation wandering in spasmodic delusions of sick euphoria, on the other, there's a decidedly lighthearted mood (of which the curious but superficial lyrics, about the singer's personal events, are part) that pervades almost everything: in the end, the album seems to take itself not too seriously and gives the impression of a purely "aesthetic" work.

The tracks are as disastrous as they are irresistible, one follows the other. Citationism and "derivativity" abound but the class and genuineness of the compositions establish, in an engaging synthesis of a myriad of styles, anything but predictable, a fine and commendable operation of reviving a certain type of music translated to our days, making the work a healthy entertainment.