 | | ****** Up (pic: Andrea Ostholt) |
A wheel of confusion calamitising convention shows a sense of understatement to ensnare even Morrissey. With a name that could at first suggest some Jack-smacked, fag-mouthed set of garage-rock, you’ll quickly appreciate they’re named in a spirit of searing honesty. Hardcore to make the hardest heart heave, their scabrous take on dose-dodging delirium is an exhilarating blast of extreme noise terror without the tantrums and foot-stomping of much of today’s so-called punk music. Frontman Pink Eyes staggers in his sweat pants, literally Private Pyle-driving round the stage and audience like the enlightened, Satan-sane spirit that reanimated off-camera in an unseen Full Metal Jacket, sniping cynical and arcane allegories of squalid anthems of suppurating schism like Berating The Public and Blaze Of Glory. This band aren’t so monikered for the good of their health, or weight for that matter (indeed, the perturbingly personable Pink Eyes compares himself to Gossip singer Beth Ditto, boasting jovially how he looks better - he does). With claims to ‘utilize biological concepts to enact social change within their music’ -I presume that’s what bands like Travis call writing a bridge - they actually do seem to do just that, for they be akin to alien abduction stories of invasive surgery; the anti-sceptic salving salvo in their serrated sting the euphoric melody that inhabits their dark, dim view of the world and it’s proceedings. If they stay together amongst the insanity, schizophrenia and mental-institution stints, this could be a very, very important band. If you think you know punk, or music for that matter, look up this band, and their debut Hidden World, and meet the challenge they’re rising above. | 
