Tackhead
Friendly As A Hand Granade

The Tackhead represent a true milestone in the history of dance music. They accomplished the same operation executed by Arto Lindsay and his funky-Latin mixtures. Create a dance music that is cultured and sophisticated but at the same time possesses a primitive charge, a devastating explosive force.
The territories in which the New Jersey group roamed were those of soul and funk, with incursions into rap. All musical genres of the black tradition, scarred by heavy guitar riffs and typically white electronic layers. This mixture gave their sound a truly devastating strength and power. The bursts of adrenaline follow one another continuously with each track, dragging the body into an irresistible dance.

Everything revolves around the figure of Keith LeBlanc, a historical figure of the avant-garde scene, who with the Maffia had sided with the great Mark Stewart of the Pop Group in one of his mythical solo works.
The soul of the album is indeed his driving percussion and his relentless drum machine. Friendly As A Hand Grenade is perhaps the group's masterpiece, dating back to 1989.
It starts immediately with the metallic funky figures of the guitar accompanying a seductive female voice, immersed in a languid soul, while the rhythm invades the body taking over its limbs... It's "Tell Me Truth The Truth". There's not even time to catch your breath when an even more pressing rhythm fills the air, stunned by continuous electronic disturbances and heavy-metal guitar samples. The real protagonist is always her: an impressive rhythm section for vigor and warmth. It's "Mind And Moviment".
This time, the generous LeBlanc grants us a deserved break. The sinuous "Stealing" indeed winks at trip-hop, and slows down the dance caressing the ears with a soft and sensual "slow". The charge is promptly restored by the irresistible metropolitan ghetto anthem of "Airborn Ranger", which grafts layers of distorted guitars, confused electronics, and a funk bass down to the core onto a marching drum.
The syncopations of the ironic "Demolition House", and the velvety "Ticking Time Bomb", contested between guitar sparks and hammering rhythmic incursions of "pneumatic" drum machines, complete the discourse without appeal.

There's no story, this is a legendary album, to be handed down directly to history.