Cristiano Spencer * with rouge-smeared, morgue-like, unhealthy-congregation, persists criminally as well as magnificently in his own artistically fertile, deformed and intellectually tragicomic journey after the exorbitant and bloodily-bloody, stoic comeback of about three hundred and sixty-five days ago.
Nientepopòdimenoché the Pattonian Ipecac releases and makes available such searing and new, fierce, gloomy, pseudo-rock page: the caustic transcendental sound-hook remains, Deo Gratias (et semper) that extremist-noise infamously sketched and known to cordial afitionados ("Scattered.." '95) of the three affable New-Yorker friends, but, in honor of the efforts advocated therein, one perceives [in the exasperating organized chaos and generously offered] a strong will in not wanting to fossilize its hitherto almost exemplary modus esprimendi.
The original and ever-ultimate Unsalubrious, in their rediscovered and herein confirmed, dado-star, classic incarnation, seal with absolute peremptoriness the filthy and bloody primacy of today’s blatant and disgustingly lashing noise-rock reality more plausible and perceptible: proponents of the rock-lava most (infamously) irritating, mean, and thus enjoyable, produced in the dehumanized Big Apple.
The sound/(im)material this time is made of an addition of unusual substance and even greater stunning organicity, far superior to what has been heard (in captivity) until now, also the result of an [unexpected] highly effective and suitable recording that returns faithfully and integrally the enormous density (those who have had the fortune know what I rave about) of the exasperating, disfiguring, on-stage performances advocated by the shady figures in question.
"Visqueen," just like its fierce predecessor, could potentially become an appropriate sound-structure for a new and possible (as usual) visionary accursed celluloid work (Abel)Ferrarian: a sound particularly congested yet airy, robust, with para-carcinogenic, sordid connotations, but contextually endowed with regenerative vitality and vivid fierceness; ça va sans dire, the compact and rooted acoustic mush advocated during the examined eleven episodes are none other than the umpteenth, successful, mélange of urban paranoia and killerish psych-attitudinal dissociation: an auditory climax (never so) gruff, painful, yet overflowing-boisterousness, catapulted to its improbable and extreme (positive) outcomes.
Indeed, (H)ard to indicate hypothetical peaks in such a solid and convincing work, generous in giving broad and guaranteed sound-damaging satisfactions: the phenomenal, turgid initial triad "Against The Grain" / "Last Man Standing" / "This Stops At The River" (enriched by semi-buried, from the surrounding bedlam, harmonica) would suffice not to allow and/or leave room for any misinterpretation: this appears (forgive the bleak scurrility) disk supplied with both pros and cons. The symptomatic and killer epicness depicted in "Only Pain" genuinely leaves one chilled: clear and successful signal of the intrinsic will and need not to be (re)trapped eternally in the same inexpressible (though effective) nightmare: a desire for (moderate) renewal while remaining substantially faithful to itself and to what is anything but eschatologically left out during its nearly twenty-year history.
In conclusion: positive bafflement galore, acciderba!
*Brother of the pugilist Bud? Listening to the fearsome blows generated, it could well be.
N.B.
This de-ranting is copied (stenciled?) in whole or in part from HERE: exhibit, should you deem it appropriate, your civil complaints to whomever it may concern (editors@debaser.it).
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