02 Nov 11
Look I’m just going to break this to you straight. I’d like to think we’ve built a good enough rapport you and me that I wouldn’t have to sugar coat anything. There are many instances in your life, where things you couldn’t possibly imagine having a negative impact in any way, trail muddy great footprints of negativity across the just cleaned floor that is your enthusiasm. Turbo Tango, soft drink’s new liquid/spray/marketing ploy for instance. What you imagine: A volatile canister of nitrous oxide infused orangey e-numbers, that in the wrong hands could very well leave you with no hands. What you get: A tepid froth, the consistency and colour of Mick Hucknall’s jizz. 18th birthday’s? What you imagine: Charlie Sheen endorsed orgies of debauchery, set in a backdrop equal parts Scarface and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The reality: A day like any other, bookmarked by a supermarket cake. A collaboration between Thom Yorke, Johnny Greenwood and (formerly MF) Doom? What you imagine: A spiraling, bleeping, groove orientated, musical vortex, so devastatingly cosmic in its impact, music folds inwards on itself melting genres into one singular, constant drone of noise from which sound can’t escape. What you get: A track that sort of sounds a bit like Feral from TKOL played at twice the normal speed, layered over the loading screen of a scratched Playstation 1 game.
THE MORAL OF THE STORY: Fuck. You.