Head On – Robert Christgau/Greil Marcus

Head On

A band we found ourselves hooked on back in 2018 through their debut album Ubik, Greek outfit Head On has so far evaded the major spotlights which we suggested were on their near horizon courtesy of their striking full-length but are back to tease them once again with their new two-track single.

The Athens hailing band again breed their tracks from a post punk heart enveloping both with just as potent post rock atmospherics but swiftly both Robert Christgau and Greil Marcus reveal the band’s sound has embraced a far richer and thicker expanse of flavouring compared to that within their impressive album. Equally there is a bolder maturity to the web of styles and imagination making up its senses entangling prowess, one increasing that suggestion that Head On deserve greater attention.

Both tracks making up the single are inspired by American music journalists and each a tribute with a touch of individualism and rebellion which could be said to equally spice the writers work. A-side is Robert Christgau, a song immediately winding attention enticing guitar wiring around ears. Rhythms gather with increasing intensity too though they never quite find a concussive touch as the track slips into its infectious post punk nurtured stroll. Tofer’s vocals join the canter, his resolute tones firm but with the same underlying off-kilter dynamic as carried by Breathiac’s guitar and Levojohn’s bass. With the equally purposeful beats of Kostas driving and adding commanding manipulation to song and listener alike within the melodic web cast by Breathiac, the track is pure captivation; essences of bands such as early Cure, Unsane, and KEN Mode coming to mind in varying degrees.

Greil Marcus provides the B-side and similarly had us on board from its initial nagging breath as guitar and bass nudges teased and lured before uniting in a more voracious canter with those same virulent hooks at work. There is something akin to a fusion of fellow Greeks SPInnERS and Russian punks Biting Elbows to the song but swiftly Head On stamp down their uniqueness as the cold taunting of the track and its virulent character thick in enterprise got under the skin. Senses scorching eruptions in sound and especially Tofer’s vocals only add to the tension and captivation of the track, its ferocity and disturbed breath adding to the thrilling drama.

Both tracks had us hungry for more and eagerly anticipating the next unpredictable Head On roar which hopefully will have a much larger landscape of ears waiting its unveiling if the band’s new single gets its deserved reward.

Robert Christgau/Greil Marcus is available now @ https://headongreece.bandcamp.com/releases

https://www.facebook.com/Head0n/

Pete RingMaster 05/02/2020

Copyright RingMasterReview: MyFreeCopyright

Night Goat – Milk

Ever fancied being violated and aroused at the same time then the debut album from Night Goat offers a glorious opportunity. Milk is a ferocious ten track trespass of noise and intent delivered with a feral energy and dexterity which gets straight under the skin and has spirit and instincts dancing to its infernal dance.

Ohio hailing, Night Goat has earned a potent reputation and fan base across their home state with shows alongside the likes of Whores, Low Dose, False Gods, and Backwoods Payback giving further reason to steer attention upon their senses devouring, imagination peeling noise rock. With inspirations from the likes of Melvins, Sonic Youth, Neurosis, The Jesus Lizard, Unsane, Whores and many more sparking their own unashamed uniqueness, the quartet grip ears and appetite with so many aspects though it is the sanity rasping vocals of Julia Bentley which first demanded subservience. As untamed and corrupt as they are skilfully manipulative in touch and word, her tones are a twisted seduction more than matched by the backing deviancy in voice and the sonic irreverence of husband guitarist Chris and the inexorable rhythmic invasion of bassist Dalin Jones and drummer Donnie Casey. It is a cacophonous deed in sound, enterprise, and scuzzy discontent which had us, from pretty much the first breath of Milk, lustfully dangling from every hook, gleefully bruised from every rhythmic bitch slap, and lapping up its toxic nourishment.

As album opener Smearcase on Shorb quickly and eagerly showed, the Night Goat sound is a thickly flavoured noise rock bred proposition; grunge and doom essences as hungry as the punk and post punk toxins which as boldly enrich the band’s unique scuzz enveloped violation. The track gathers itself sonically initially before riffs devilishly spring forth closely followed by equally rapacious rhythms. Julia’s presence erupts at the same time, her vocals as fearsome as they are captivating; a fusion which describes the band’s presence as a whole throughout Milk. The song continues to batter and bite, Dalin and Donny an inescapable incitement as they steer the invasive pleasure.

Dirty Candy follows, luring ears with a lone calm chord into the waiting turbulence of sound and voice. Every second is as infectious as it is unbroken, a breach of mental security veined with appetite inflaming grooves and fuelled by rapacious rhythmic agility while the demonic Malachai immediately after provides its own individual scourge as it stalks the listener; a prowling threat which hollers with venomous celebration across a predacious gait and intent.

To be honest if the album had gone straight downhill from this point on we would still be urging your attention its way such its mighty beginning but no, Milk just grows and goes from strength to strength unleashing another new striking moment with Chubby Leech. The grumbling but inviting tease of Dalin’s bass insisted on ears first, its controlled inherent swing irresistible as it is joined by subdued yet still concussively threatening beats and the dual vocal ruin of Julia and Chris. The dour swing of the bass infests the whole song as it strolls across the psyche, the track erupting in scalding furies with each more intense and rousing than the last.

Jerusalem’s Lot harasses as it incites, nagging thoughts as it stirs up body and spirit, the track a savage slice of noise punk hitting the spot as hungrily as those before it with Gnarltooth Grim initially contrasting its voracity with a composed entrance equipped with Dalin’s ever persuasive grim bass tempting and Donnie’s persistently fertile rhythms wrapped in the citric toxicant of Chris’ strings. The song’s ensuing stroll is harassment and temptation combined, a two faced incitement echoed in the twin vocal molesting shared within the psyche menacing clamour which had us drooling in quick time as too did the unscrupulous rock ‘n’ roll of My Axe (Your Ribcage) which eagerly leapt on our weakened state right away after. A seductive bully never allowing a breath to be taken until it decided to spin its desire in a momentary spell of matching fever and treachery, the song sets another pinnacle in the album’s increasing collection.

The pair of Head Lice and Bonemeal keeps that trend going with thick individuality; the first emerging from an otherworldly state to seduce and haunt ear and emotions alike. Unstable and increasingly unhinged by each passing breath, the track rose to thrust a hand on favourite track honours, its every disturbed second a feast of and cause of paranoia. Even so its successor matches its glory and more with its cauldron of punk bred persecution, the infestation of sound and provocation evolving into a web of sonic incivility and magnetic craft.

The album concludes with The Greys, a slab of sonic evil that winds around and accosts the senses in a mix of uncompromising disquiet and brutality, one becoming darker and more sinister by each occultist sigh it subsequently unveils. It is a fascinating and riveting end to the release and a last unleashing of ferocity which alone commanded a swift return to the pernicious but invigorating alchemy, or should that be sonic mercury, within Milk an encounter which declared  Night Goat as one of the most exciting new encounters of recent years.

Milk is out now and available @ https://nightgoat13.bandcamp.com/album/milk

https://www.facebook.com/nightgoat13

Pete RingMaster

Copyright RingMasterReview: MyFreeCopyright

SuperBlood WolfMoon – Eternal Disco Damnation

How to describe the debut EP from UK outfit SuperBlood WolfMoon? An infernal kaleidoscope of temptation or a toxic trespass of intimation or indeed an eight-legged groove machine intent on undiluted corruption? All apply to a release which consumed and devoured as well as seduced our senses and attention. Eternal Disco Damnation is like a sonic equivalent of the fantastic and nightmarish narratives within a triptych altarpieces of Hieronymus Bosch; a ravening examination which simply became more compelling by the confrontation.

Hailing from Birmingham and containing former members of another of the city’s previous mighty trespasses in Bishop, SuperBlood WolfMoon create a sound as schizophrenic as it is physically feral and imaginatively beguiling. Certainly their groove metal woven incitement will be an engagement and tempest too ruinous for some but for those with an appetite for a fusion of Meshuggah at their most rabid, Faith No More in their most primal state, and a savagely irritable Unsane though that still skates the surface of the SuperBlood WolfMoon cyclone, the band’s first EP will be nothing less than fascination.

Eternal Disco Damnation opens up with Hexed Houses and instantly descends on the senses like a collapsing towering wall; barbarous rhythms and sonic pestilence a merciless onslaught yet sharing an immediately enticing catchiness which soon springs infectiously wiry grooves around the breaking malignancy of Jon Baker ‘s throat shredding tones. The track continues to twist and turn, its pernicious shifts and unpredictable moves fuelled by adventure and enterprise whether they are brought with brutality or calm temptation. Throughout the track the riffs and grooves of Steve Styles examine and entice whilst the bass growls cast by Slam and the unconstrained swings of Pete Shortman’s beats are as mercurial as they are violently tenacious. It all makes for a song which surprises as it assaults, never going where expectations assume and never leaving the imagination barren.

You & He Were Buddies follows and similarly just collapses on ears with its first breath, swallowing up the senses whilst inhaling greater schizophrenic fumes by the note, rhythm, and release of vocal chagrin. It too comes with a rich character in captivation and contagion if both as fearsome as they are tempting, a fusion as prevalent within Where the Dead Went straight after. Its initial foray upon the listener is a staggered venomous lure but as vicious as anything before it and only more compelling and lethal by every subsequent enthrallingly psychotic second going to make up the EP’s most irresistible moment.

The EP concludes with Cape, a song looming in like a portentous sea mist before spreading its noxious sonic climate with melodic and toxic craft. Compared to its predecessors, the track is a calmer invasion and incitement but equally the most menacing and unnerving interrupted by moments of grooved mania the body just had to respond to.

As beguiling as it is hellacious, the track provided an absorbing end to an engrossing and increasingly striking release. Eternal Disco Damnation is as much drenched in potential as it is invention and imagination. It will frighten some and seduce many but mainly only intrigue all as a new Super Blood Wolf Moon rises.

Eternal Disco Damnation is out now available through iTunes and Spotify.

https://www.facebook.com/superbloodwolfmoon   https://www.instagram.com/super_blood_wolf_moon_0/   YouTube

Pete RingMaster 13/06/2019

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Sofy Major – Total Dump

Sofy Major is a leviathan of sound and trespass which persistently erupts from a noise fuelled creative lair with releases which for us have pretty much left contemporaries in their tempest and turbulence. Three previous albums have as good as decimated the prowess and adventure of other ear rewarding encounters around at the time and with Total Dump, the French trio has done it again Their new full-length is in many ways their most accessible and flirtatious offering yet but equally their most voracious and imposing not forgetting irresistible slab of noise and hardcore infested, metal lined rock ‘n’ roll.

The successor to the outstanding Waste of 2015, which itself eclipsed the thrilling Idolize unleashed two years earlier, the Dave Curran (UNSANE, Big Business) produced Total Dump is a contagion of abusive yet flirtatious noise and bruising but virulently captivating force and imagination. It is predatory irritable rock ‘n’ roll from start to finish with an eager taste in contagious and invasive enterprise. Opening up with its title track, the album immediately reveals its bestial side, the track prowling the senses with the carnivorous claws of Mathieu Moulin’s bass locked onto the senses as his more welcoming vocals align with the raw flames and tendrils of Thomas Dantil’s guitar. It is a preying of ears and imagination which never diminishes in threat and temptation however it evolves, a trespass driven by the menacing swings of drummer Mathieu Desternes that equally escalate in infernal virulence and captivation as individual and united enterprise breeds fresh twists and sonic commination.

The compelling start is only accentuated, indeed built upon by next up Giant Car Crash; a collision with the senses which had us bouncing as much as cowering before its flirtatious and barbarous intent. Voraciously feral and inhumanly infectious, the track devoured body and passions with unquenchable hunger leading to lustful responses before Cream It uncages its rapacious crawl to trespass the senses and melodic irreverence to seduce an already greedy appetite. The kind of proposition which offers a warm welcome whilst ruining the foundations to your sanity, the glorious track is a manipulative mix of viral noise with an appetite for clamorous untamed pop.

As the ravenously viral rock punk ‘n roll throes of Strike and the post punk embracing devilry of The Jerk infested and seduced ears with unruly dexterity, Total Dump just stretched its landscape of esurient intent and fevered invention. Both tracks are as mercilessly catchy as they are unapologetically invasive, that greater accessibility to the band’s sound in full bloom just as much its acclaimed creative villainy is merciless, and traits just as thrilling within next up Shinny Happy Asshole, a venomously swinging, deviously contagious but inescapably corruptive slice of unscrupulous enterprise.

Through the slow hunt of the senses that is Franck Butthole; a cancer of sound which just ignites the imagination, and the unbroken antics of Tumor O Rama it is impossible to say attention and pleasure wavered, the total opposite in truth up against their combined sonic punk infection fuelled scourges while Kerosine Mike n turn just trapped and enslaved with ursine-esque power and intimidation whilst brewing up its own melodically toxic strain of bewitching rock ‘n’ roll.

Completed by the senses ravishing, violently bouncing exploits of Panamarama, it one the album’s most magnificent moments, and the sonically consumptive, caustically alluring tempest of The Longest Yard, there was and is no diminishing of the ardour we bred and hold for Total Dump. Without any doubt despite the glories of the past, it provides the greatest, most thrilling time with Sofy Major yet but also is set to send a shiver through the world of noise in any form as those within wonder how they can compete with its voracious triumph.

Total Dump is out now via Deadlight Records on CD and Antena/Corpse Flower on Vinyl.

http://www.sofymajor.com   https://www.facebook.com/sofymajor

Pete RingMaster 30/01/2019

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

The Great Sabatini – Goodbye Audio

Pic by DAVE LEVITT

Four years on from their psyche ravaging third album, Dog Years, Canadian noise sludgers The Great Sabatini return with another maelstrom of noise bred dissonance which, to continue a trend set from their first releases, is their most irresistible trespass to date. Goodbye Audio is around thirty five minutes of sonic abrasion as unpredictable creatively as it is expectantly striking; an invasion of raw and toxic noise intent on caustic seduction.

The Montreal quartet of Steve, Sean , Rob, and Joey Sabatini have in many ways continued exploring the less destructive but deviously manipulative essences of its predecessor with Goodbye Audio but equally the new encounter again openly embraces the ravenously raw ferocity and bedlamic seeds of their sound exposed from day one. It makes for a release which tempts, seduces, and flirts with the senses and imagination as at the same time it marauds, pillages, and corrodes them.

The album opens up with recent single Still Life With Maggots, instantly descending on ears with a sonic and rhythmic harassment before taking a momentary breath and repeating the assault with the causticity of raw throated vocals enrolled. Melodic taunts and imposing tenacity also add to the short but evolving landscape of the song, that unpredictability swiftly fingering the imagination and igniting an admittedly already in place appetite for The Great Sabatini adventure set through previous escapades.

As next track, Dog Years quickly confirms this is a new psyche twisting caper with the band though but an exploration unafraid to hint at possible inspirations as the likes of Melvins, Unsane, and Sofy Major come to mind at certain moments across the whole of Goodbye Audio. The second song is an immediate bestial infringement, its carnal instincts fuelling sound and voice alongside intent as it crawls over the senses. Sludge metal and noise punk provide smog of irritability and raw tension but again if with less openness there is an underlying incalculable adventure which teases before exposing its majesty in the outstanding Strip Mall or, The Pursuit Of Crappiness Parts 1-4. The track is superb, from its initial hip manipulating flirtation breaking open a fissure of thick prowling malevolence veined with toxic grooving, that in turn twisting into corruptive punk ‘n’ roll rebellion before finding a quickly corrupted paradise.

You’re Gonna Die (Unsatisfied) stalks years and thoughts next, the guitar again inviting and taunting with its riffs as rhythms stroll and fly through the skulking throaty bass and swinging sticks. It is a maelstrom of threat and ferocity with the most frenetic prowl while Tax Season In Dreamland provides a feral punk tango exposing scars and lust with equal creative savagery. Its moments of emotionally hazed tranquillity are just as imposing stirring up emotive reflections as potent as the physical reactions its uproar provokes.

Through the shadow draped increasingly contaminated celestial breath of Brute Cortege and the intimidatingly mercurial fourteen minute emotional wilderness of Hand Of Unmaking, the album is brought to a mighty close; both tracks a provocation of body, spirit and thought with the latter a complete trial and adventure of its very own to hungrily immerse in.

We are not afraid to say that The Great Sabatini has been one of our favourite bands for a long time but even that usual readymade submission to their adventures was taken aback by the thrills and spills of Goodbye Audio. If noise annoys run for cover as the Canadians have it down to a fine raw art.

Goodbye Audio is out now on vinyl from No List Records, Ancient Temple Records and No Why Records with a cassette version featuring exclusive bonus track Drain The Swamp available from Pink Lemonade. Head over to https://thegreatsabatini.bandcamp.com/album/goodbye-audio for digital release and more…

 http://thegreatsabatini.com   https://facebook.com/thegreatsabatini   https://twitter.com/greatsabatini

Pete RingMaster 01/12/2018

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Possessor – The Ripper

UK metallers Possessor have been a band fear and lust has equally and simultaneously been spawned for in the face of each release uncaged since they emerged within the death throes of 2013. The band’s doom nurtured, thrash fuelled sound is a crushing and violating experience but one which has enslaved body, imagination, and soul here with its virulent, invasive boogie. The London trio recently released new album The Ripper and we can tell you nothing has changed. Their third album is a cauldron of corrosive riffs and destructive rhythms honed into one of the rawest, insatiable, and thrilling trespasses you are likely to hear across this coming year and beyond.

As much grunge, stoner, and alternative metal as those earlier mentioned hues, Possessor’s sound is pure predatory confrontation often as demonic and lewd as the horror soaked premises it spawns. The band’s 2014 debut album, Electric Hell, was an unpolished gem of an introduction providing “a thrilling ticket to the start of their inevitable ascending ride.” It was a journey which has bruised and abused, gripped and thrilled across the following Stay Dead EP a year later and second full-length Dead By Dawn eighteen or so months on. The last album really thrust the band into new spotlights but it has to be said that all have been rousingly eclipsed and put in their place by the carnal majesty of The Ripper.

Instantly opener Conjure and Possess casts a sonic storm over the senses, its abrasive scouring the warm up and prelude to a ravenous stomp of riffs and rhythms bound in the most lustful of grooves. A temptation to rock the residents of a graveyard into life with the swinging beats of Matthew Radford as arousing as they are destructive, the track roars through ears bearing the raw dirty vocal tones of guitarist Graham Bywater with open devilment. The bass of Tom Fowler is just as devilish, its own grooved swing instinctive incitement in the multi-flavoured onslaught.

The following Guillotine is just as fevered in its attack, maybe more so but unafraid to slip into less intensive examinations of the listener as it conjures its own web of salacious grooves and rapacious enterprise. Bywater’s voice and riffs infest ears but even more so his grooves and sonic espionage manipulates body and appetite already caught by the primal claws of the rhythms.

Fowler’s bass finds an even more carnivorous voice for the following Wet Cemetery, its visceral gurning leading a wash of rasping riffs within which vocals spew causticity. Toxic melodies vein the relative calm which separates the song’s energetic lust, it all leading to moments of nefarious endeavour which itself is sheer magnetism. A mesh of essences which lure references to bands such as High On Fire, Cavalera Conspiracy, Electric Wizard, and Unsane, flavours rising throughout the album, the track emerges unique to Possessor and again a common factor to The Ripper echoed in The Slime immediately after and thereon in. The fourth track hits its crunchy stroll instantly, snarling riffs chewing sinew before grooves send liquor coated tendrils through ears, its varied metallic irritancy swiftly addictive as the psyche is increasingly possessed.

Through the grim viscera of Whitechapel Murders and the scalding tension of Lava, the scorching of the senses and unrestrained pleasure escalates, the first of the two bearing the early Therapy? scent our ears have always found and greedily consumed within the Possessor sound. Every part of the band’s unholy trinity is on the top of their game, a success applying across the whole release but at their hungriest or certainly most fervid here. Its successor is an inferno of threat and intrigue, less equipped with irresistible hooks and addiction sparking grooves than others around it but just as commanding in its escalating incessancy.

Notting Hell opens in a jungle of rhythmic machination, the piece a brief shamanic infestation of devilry setting up the blood strewn quarrel and sonic narcotic that is Hacksaw. The most barbarous exploit on the album, it is a bestial and concentrated blitz on the listener, manna for the beleaguered senses and primal rock ‘n’ roll instincts.

A pause as things take a breath simply marks the insatiable devouring sprung by closing instrumental Earth Shaker. It is a rampage driven by a horde of voracious riffs and fearsome rhythms with grooves and twists just as mercilessly toxic and though it does not quite hit the spot as fully as what came before, the track consumes attention and satisfaction with ease.

There are few bands which truly excite just from news of a new encounter with them but Possessor is among them and will continue to be so with hellish offerings like The Ripper.

The Ripper is available now through Graven Earth Records on cassette, Wicked Lester Records on CD, and digitally @ https://possessor.bandcamp.com/album/the-ripper

https://www.facebook.com/possessorband

 Pete RingMaster 10/01/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Fashion Week – So Last Season

Like the fall out and indeed initial impact of the detonation of a nuclear device, the sound of US noise mongers Fashion Week is a ravenous inescapable scourge feasting on flesh and senses. Debut album Prêt-à-Porter was savagely enjoyable proof of the fact, its release on Solar Flare Records a testing and thrilling examination of body and emotions. Now two years after its scorching eruption, the band has released So Last Season. A coming together of rare and unreleased material, including Fashion Week’s first demo, two EPs, live tracks and a couple of covers, the album oversees the birth of the band and its growth in sound right up to that first inimitable album.

Founded in 2009 by vocalist/guitarist Joshua Lozano (Inswarm, Jarboe, Cobalt, Family, Shai Hulud, Vampillia), NYC hailing Fashion Week quickly drew eager attention with their diverse, melody tinged swarms of noise. Taking inspiration from the diverse likes of Unsane, Coalesce, and Botch through to Nirvana, Dinosaur Jr, Melvins, and Quicksand with plenty more embraced under their creative wing, Fashion Week soon sculpted their own distinctive dirty sound as evidenced by first EP, Applicator in 2011 and its successor Coextinction #11 two years after. Prêt-à-Porter was the wake-up call to broad attention which the striking re-emergence of earlier and rare material courtesy of So Last Season can now only reinforce.

The album opens with the three tracks which made up Coextinction #11, songs the band were invited to record for the internet label of Unsane’s Dave Curran, Coextinction Recordings. The raw, at times almost carnal assault of Heroin Chic is first. As nagging citric guitars and a gloriously grumbling bass instantly descend, an underlying melodic lure simmers and brews, subsequently taking its central spot in the grungy smog of sound. Warm vocals spring from within the addictive assault, welcoming yet as edgy as the intimidatingly voracious sounds around them.

Andrew Cunanan follows, its rural harmonica shared comeliness soon a tempest of hungry rhythms and greedy riffs with that snarling bass again addictive bait alongside the furnace of voice and guitar. As its predecessor though, melody and restraint get involved, hand in hand prowling the senses as the former laces seductively wiry grooves. The track is pure magnetism, a trait matched in strength by God Save McQueen. Its hardcore rapacity smothers ears before twisting them with a web of flavours all bleeding aural and emotional tartness.

The brief rabid attacks of both Fab and Smyze follow; two live cuts which infest body and psyche with their caustic holler and predatory sonic trespass with the second a beast of a proposal stalking the listener with its sludge bred intent. Their debilitating prowess is followed by a cover of the Helmet track, I Know. A calmer affair with harmonies instantly slipping their invitation into the more fractious draw of guitars and bass, the song flirtatiously twists and swings like a primal seductress, never moving out of second gear but only increasing its siren-esque appeal with each enterprising second.

The next three tracks come from un-released EP Little Black Dress which seemed to have been pushed aside as the band worked on Prèt-â-Porter. Lydian Hearst dances with discontent and melancholic charm first, melodies a sombre enticement and rhythms a truculent incitement though they too develop a vibrant if filth lined swing led by the ever gnarly bass. With Lozano’s vocals a plaintively bracing squall, a squall in time joined by a tamer presence, the track boils in touch and temptation before So Last Season unveils its abrasive grunge clad pop ‘n’ roll on the table. The song is a spiral of contrasts, like a maelstrom of Converge, Sofy Major, and Melvins, and as imposingly catchy as it is greedily corrosive.

The following Little Black Dress, featuring guest vocals from Dave Castillo, Kurt Applegate, and Tom Tierney, equally has infectiousness coursing irritable rock ‘n’ roll seeing bodies bouncing as the senses shrivel under vocal causticity and increasing sonic hostility, only to be re-animated by the spicy grooves entangling song and listener.

It would have been a crime if the EP had never seen the light of day, one of many major reasons to grab the album, a felony repeated if Rich Hallister, a song originally recorded for Prêt-à-Porter which the band eventually did not feel fitted, was not heard. It too is ferocity of noise and attitude with a virulent catchiness which enslaves ears and hips, rogue beats alone a busy temptation as vocals increasingly lose their grip on composure being matched by the growing bedlam of guitar.

With Vinny Signorelli of Unsane guesting on drums, Fashion Week takes on his band’s track Only Pain next. A potent mix of sample and keys draw the listener into the waiting doomscape of sound and emotion, Lozano searing it with his raw throated delivery backed by the equally apocalyptic and melancholic roar and melodic suggestion of guitars. It is a compelling take on a great track arguably giving an even grittier and rawer aspect to its emotionally decayed antipathy.

The digital version of So Last Season is completed by the re-mastered version of the band’s original demo, Applicator, which also comes as an additional 7” with a vinyl edition of the album. Beginning with the rusty hues of Fierce, the four tracks making up the release are the heart and seeds of Fashion Weeks’ current sound, the source of uncompromising intent and endeavour making up the impressive stature of Prêt-à-Porter. The track is undiluted sonic threat and emotional turmoil, a vat of creative rancor matched by that festering within the equally corrosive and catchy Heidi Klum and the hook wired Bryant Park, the second a web of guitar woven tempting and intrigue wonderfully sullied by Lozano’s flesh grazing vocal deliver and increasingly ruinous vitriol.

Completed by the hardcore scourge of Fabulous, the track pure venom in noise and presence, So Last Season is a must for newcomers to the band, for those who missed out on their earlier assaults and noise rock victims as a whole.

So Last Season is available now @ https://www.fashionweek.bandcamp.com/album/so-last-season

https://www.facebook.com/FashionWeekBand       https://fashionweeknoise.com/

Pete RingMaster 29/03/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright