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Bosch croons to the abyss,
This review is from: Junkyard (Audio CD)
Ed "Big Daddy" Roth cover finally put an undergound art movement on the map and kicked off a new stylistic revolution, way back in 1982; lowbrow. Whilst serious paint splatterers were dripping their inks over the art world in the 50's/60's, gaining backslaps across Western galleries, customisers, the true frontiersmen artists, remained ignored and neglected. Traditionally "uneducated" in the artistic canon, stretching back to the big fellow being; nailed, stewed and screwed, they concentrated on the artefacts of the present. This underground movement, grew in response to the drippers.
The cover of the Gasser riding in his rod across the stage, was a resurrection of proto punk art.
Inside the grooves, Nick brushes aside the red velvet curtains to introduce a world of violent early 80's abandon, a world without personal limits. Led to a seeping wailing jazz noir world consisting of deep non law abiding obsessions. Each seemingly grounded on a sexual release coupled to a little bit of psychic death. Lyrically he provides a glass panel view gape into a world of distorted pain. So along with the vision was another musical backdrop spinning with anarchistic twirling fragments of guitar supplied by Rowland. All was smothered in shards of 10mls of sucked up blood ...as he provides a welcome flashing light to the JG Ballard rubberneck, head swivelled to the eternal car crash; Dead Joe.
Talcum powdered notions of prone beauty are a preening preoccupation within the lyrics such as She's Hit. It all ends in a purple lined coffin brimming over with eternal feelings of love, power and loss already mouldering, with a 12 inch gold blade. As the necrophiliac life stare gazes outwardly, the body is bathed in a sense of swirling nihilism. Come on and kiss me black.
So with Kewpie Doll no traditional love song rears its head as the bass plays heavy and pounding keeping together a structure linked to drums splattering in 3/3, 3/4 whilst the guitars create a trebled wall of Funhouse noise. Meanwhile the vocals are shrieked into a blast furnace, a bellow into a personal oblivion whilst having a grand mal seizure. At the time it was heavily influenced by the Pop Group, in sensibility. Live it was gazing into a mental health ward as the nursing staff went into their own chronic withdrawals in sympathy with the patients.
Nick scooped up the 80's zeitgeist and dumped it into his litter bin, hand cranked it and then recycled the remnants to offend the very fragile. Stepping up he nailed it all onto a very high, angry and cross formed image of chaotic beauty. This is heavy mental mined from deep within, not the air guitar pomp of teen preen hand strokers.
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Initial post: 29 Sep 2013 20:56:02 BDT
N. Walker says:
What a very fine review.
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