Review ·

It usually goes something like this: I get a record in the mail, listen to it once or twice, do that oh-so-clever disaffected review where I more or less just write about something other than the music -- usually Alf -- that only I think is funny, have a good laugh at myself alone in my room, and then sell the CD at Norman's so I can afford lunch every once in a while.

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But I'm really not even going to joke around about this. And actually, I really wanted to make a concentrated effort to write up this up without using music review cliches -- the music, notably devoid of formula and tired repetition itself, deserves as much. But allow me this one real quick: remember punk rock? The real kind? The first time you heard it and you were just like OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS GIVE ME MORE IMMEDIATELY? It's been a while. I've been getting 40-page press releases championing new boybandpunk that will "revolutionize" this or that, and it all just sounds like the auditory equivalent of the mall or a really well-paved driveway. But The Rebel Sound of Hate & Fucking is different.

My main qualm with "electronic music," as an umbrella term, has always been that it feels too removed at times. Maybe I'm just dense or technologically impaired, but I usually have a tough time navigating my way through bleeps and glitches to find any resemblance of emotion, immediacy, sincerity, what have you (no homo). Not the case here -- these jams fucking violated me. My roommate came home as it was playing and I almost felt embarrassed, like he caught me jerking off into the potted plants again (no homo) -- this shit is seriously intense music. There are only two songs on this seven-inch, with the ferocious A-side jam standing out as a violent, digital-Neurosis-like epic. But I'm really stoked on this: sweet cover art, absolutely gorgeous vinyl, brilliant music. Best release I've heard in a good while.

Bardo Pond - On the Ellipse Dizzee Rascal Boy in da Corner

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