The Birthday Party
Junk Yard

THE REVIEW

And finally, liberalism triumphed. We are convinced, everyone is convinced. Turn on the television, leave the house, consume (consuming oneself), accept (discriminating oneself) and finally hum (declaring oneself)… a triumph of insubstantial certainties on which to build buildings for popular use in an unpopular way, to improve society through the "magic" of glossy and installment-based hope. When these thoughts start to bounce festively in my mind, I immediately see to calm them by thinking of Junk Yard by the Birthday Party. Nothing more sedative on these occasions appears to equal the disastrous warbles, the nauseating high notes, and the shrill clangs of Nick Cave's primordial band. Yes, because only by contemplating in a detached and calm manner what are the verbal-sonic insults to which one subjects oneself, once listening begins, can one avidly affirm to feel on the side of a squalid reason whereby a sneering and macabre world offers us the only way to salvation: self-derision. Any proof?

1 - From the beginning, "Blast Off" is slaughter meat explicitly subjectable to bourgeois eardrums for unimaginable purposes of some causes.
2 - The laughably masterful "She's Hit," which resonates in sodden reverberations, as a parody of the purest love, mercilessly mocked.
3 - A sinister march at a brisk pace in honor of "Dead Joe," neurotic enough to call it quits (seriously).
4 - "The Dim Locator" + "Hamlet(POW, POW, POW)" is a double tragicomedy with an unbridled and catacombal blues rhythm that is unmatched by anything else.
5 - The desecrating and exasperating religiosity embodied by "Several Sins" and "Big Jesus Trash Can," which allow the forgetting of arcane entities in a world made of cheeseburgers and anti-aging cancerous creams.
6 - An endless parade of sonic tortures, inflicted orally with the respective condolences of "Kiss Me Black," "6" Gold Blade," "Kewpie Doll," and "Junkyard," learned just in time to re-endure a "Dead Joe" remixed properly to hurt even more.
7 - The concluding "Release The Bats," unrestrained and shameless in its abuses of groove and morgue blues.

The Birthday Party, in other words, a successful and absolutely unique post-punk/blues/new wave transplant, distinct from the funky-shit made in the 80s and located in an Australia halfway between San Francisco and Bratislava: Melbourne. Traces of this type of insemination can be distinctly found in claustrophobic bands like Scratch Acid, Jesus Lizard, Rapeman, and the very-very-very early Nirvana. Trusting in your intelligence, I would advise against listening during happy and intimate birthday parties.