Splatterpink
Industrie Jazzcore

Zorn Primus Mr Bungle Ratm: if it’s already a very wicked and far-off alchemy from some casual rollingstone-myspace labeling, then it's clear the impossibility of emerging in any alternative scenario, be it a mention in a my deb’s trivial ranking or a notice in some event – and that would be excessive –, or a nice review for a highlight – which would be asking the impossible.

Hell no. Nothing. Disgustingly ignored by the critics when they actually deserved and needed a very different interest, the splatters' sound seems evocative, in the harmonic-schizophrenic constructs, of the sick guys mentioned above.

Coarse, heavy as a rock even to the most dissonantly trained ears, yet technically cutting-edge (everyone from D’Agata to the saxophonist has a jazz background), spiced up with lyrics at the edge between spleen melancholia and repressed anger, the music of the splatters is a diaphanous tsunami devoted to impending syncope, to cacophony sudden…, real manifestos in our socio-cultural environment… it’s hard to escape the abundance of symbols, stimuli, impulses, that in their paths alienate us from a correct and formal understanding of events, man as a whole, a predetermined victim of a machinery too big to understand its intentions, with no goal of action, only capable of inciting insecurities and perpetual nihilism.

Everything oscillates under an aura between the gore, the ominous, a non-sense with a masochistic destination; the calm, the flatness, and the certainty of the progress of human advancement are just a feeble artifice compared to the destructive and executioner instincts hidden in our small actions.

Superb the sax-slap-bass combo in the claypool  and asymphonic fuzzy guitar: it all makes the descent to the infernos toward the self more tragicomic and apparently latent.

The only small flaw is Diego's voice, often anonymous, often covered by the music (understanding some lyrics is a feat and the little that is understandable is hallucinatory; nothing can be found online besides) which perhaps a better mix would have made perfect.

Music for failed dickheads about to exterminate the family because they are convinced of a life as a Catholic-conservative plot aimed at repressing their artistic verve of misunderstood geniuses resigned to spout daily nonsense on the web, just to feel intellectualoids independent from the Silvio system.

You really don't deserve them… I'm going to kill more of them.