Fuck me if I have any fucking clue what the fuck this fucking shit is supposed to fucking goddamn be or be doing, but I fucking dig it like a fucking grave, baby. Agoraphobic Nosebleed is a whirling dervish of sound, slamming against the silence and silencing the mundane. They take 1/8th Godflesh (make that 1/16th Godflesh and 1/16th Skinny Puppy), 1/8th surrealism, 1/8th Naked City, and, okay how much is that now? Three-eighths? Okay, and they cover Nuclear Assault’s old tune, “Hang the Pope,” so let’s say they have another 1/8th that’s metal and maybe another 1/8th that consists of all sorts of fucked up sampling and another 1/8th of drug crazed experimentation and an 1/8th of dope and an 1/8th of Afghani anthrax infected heroin and the last 1/8th would be distilled 100% pure angry hardcore vibes with a scary intellectual underpinning you aren’t likely to find anywhere else. Take all these various parts and shake well on one of those paint mixing machines they have in the hardware and tools section at Sears, you know, like what Bart used to shake up Homer’s can of beer for a April Fool’s gag on “The Simpsons,” and spread it over 38 slices of moldy Wonder bread (one slice per song on the disc) and, then and only then do you have the faintest glimmer of an incanabulaic thought as to what this fucking shit is the fuck about.
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