• Rating:
There is something profound that can unsettle the listening experience of Washer's second work: the guitar. Damn, that damned guitar; yet it fascinates. What if I told you that this record happily sails between garage rock, the canonical Nirvana, and post-hardcorella? I know you'd think of chunky guitars, dizzying loudness, and cranial membrane friction; none of that.
The guitar is crunchy and subdued to the voice, the voice. Bass and drums remain quietly just below the guitars; yet it fascinates. You hear Cobain's screams over J Mascis's version of rock 'n roll. Husker Du without ardor and Helmet diluted in water. Slint without Albini and Albini as a New York squatter.
We like it, we like it a lot, how could we not? It fascinates. But my dear ones: I can accept guitars like this but at this point, it's a matter of production, and perhaps what I think is wrong is totally correct.
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