Wildildlife
Six

THE REVIEW

Are there muscular records? Yes.

But then, is the ferocity, the impulse, the twisting and kneading, the relentless chewing after soaking everything with saliva just simple physical acts? No.

Or rather, they undoubtedly are, but listening to "Six" makes me wonder how much intellectual preparation is behind it and also how much skill there is in hiding it and making it all seem so naturally wild. We are talking about stones, primitive pebbles, the kind you hold in your hand, squeezing them without realizing how dangerous and sharp they are, only to look at your palms and find them lacerated and bleeding.

"Things Will Grow" is a stunned anthem, or rather an anthem to the bewilderment: the drums open, some shards of guitar before taking shape, rising and exploding with the entry of a dirty and distant voice. "Tungsten Steel (Epilogue)" begins with a falsetto chant, but the smell of gasoline is strong, and here the guitars, which had previously had fun fraying the rhythmic fabric with metallic dissonances, stop, a few bass traces before a powerful and distorted explosion, and we find ourselves in a dense black vertigo. "Whopping Church" doesn't even give us time to lose ourselves in its melody with the ethereal consistency of a noble gas that begins the fluid and viscous stride of "Magic Jordan", a quarter of an hour of psychedelia and lysergic crystals.

"Feed" then lives on overpowering and altered riffs while "Kross" is noise rage immersed in the liberating sensation of defeat. With "Nervous Buzzing", this suffocated prophecy of pain is sublimated, reaching emotional peaks.

Where does the ultrasound of this incurable disease come from? From the San Francisco trio, from Crucial Blast, and the imaginary basement where Royal Trux and Animal Collective play together.