Scraping Foetus Off The Wheel
Hole

Kangaroos and rusty nails, red sand and skyscrapers. Directly from Australia, here is one of the most original one-man-bands of the eighties. That is, when the cannibal ferocity propelled by disjointed drum machines takes on the cumbersome grandeur of an American cinematic blockbuster.

Mad samples derail the already intrinsically eccentric rhythmic sequences onto territories of murderous psychopathy. There's something attractive about these deviant compositions, perfectly orchestrated, as if they were Beethoven's symphonies.
Excessive drama, epileptic punk fervor, degenerations and deconstructions of pre-established patterns assimilated in an outlook of self-abusive perversion, such appear the crooked coordinates of this sonic fresco.

James Thirlwell, known as Foetus, has a particular and refined taste for excess, for special effects at all costs; "Hole" is a whirlwind riot of fireworks mercilessly launched at the crowd. A marvelous horror show, a tribal orgy of sonic impulses destined for a head-on collision in the fast lane. And sparks fly everywhere because Foetus's voice (now virtuosic, now self-ironic) delivers chilling performances.
If you want to fall in love with industrial music, "Scraping Foetus Off The Wheel" is an excellent starting point. An ultramodern attitude with a vaguely ancestral, primitive flavor, yet deeply rooted in the eighties; this bizarre alchemy arises both from native voodoo dances and the blazing fumes of a futuristic metropolis's smokestacks. And if both highly known stars like Trent Reznor and avant-garde industrial groups like the Vampire Rodents drew much of their inspiration from old J. Thirlwell, there must be a reason, right?

With feline agility and the class of a gentleman, this apocalyptic composer flew from Melbourne to London, then to New York and finally plunged like an eagle into the darkest and scariest corners of the human mind, unleashing a terrifying energy.
"Hole" is a massive boulder hurled at the listener with ferocious violence. A terrible instrument of torture presented amid applause, blinding lights, and sinister clangs. A metallic exterminator arrived from the future to kill YOU!

AHAHAHAHAH, let the drums sound and the trumpets roll because when Foetus kicks off his crazy little theater, men wet themselves, women toughen up, and we all go to hell under Ayer's Rock!

Yes, welcome to Australia stranger, welcome to hell!