Surrounded by black mold encrusted strangeness, jagged garage punk YEEEOWWW and a penchant for thunder in a tin shed drum rat-ta-tat-tat-n-boom-this album conjures up the feeling of the simple thrills of watching something burn and the fear of possible repercussion of what my happen for disturbing a grave.
On tunes like the guitar splattered, shout along twists of "Blood On The Wall", the Casio keyboard adorned "Fries Yr Eyes" Psychedelic Horseshit digging on spaceman bubblegum vibe, the minute-n-change drunk on cheap wine/buzzed on cranked wide open gain knob Chrome clatter of "Lasers VS. Lizards" and the rattling locomotive pace of "I Know A Dude" it's as if they're an art punk band with all the filler banished making an album for Rip Off Records.
Though the glorifying of overloaded/red lined sound of magnetic tape pushed to it's limits is de rigueur here the punk rock blast shoots into some sinister space-trip more with "Death and A Half" resembling Syd's Pink Floyd riding meteors of fiery grime and using rocket fuel fumes as oxygen and the twisted B-Movie of alien witch cults and the blood thirsty voodoo hippies who die in the process scree of "Ice Cream Man".
Rounding out the album are three brain rattlers (save for the outro piece) the Spaceman 3 discovers grindcore epic "The Artist Formally", another trip into space but this time to play a dance party of "Pentagon Gone" and "Consider Drowning" road music for driving through another urban wasteland.
Cranked to the max, sick lo-fi bliss!
http://www.myspace.com/blastedcanyons
On tunes like the guitar splattered, shout along twists of "Blood On The Wall", the Casio keyboard adorned "Fries Yr Eyes" Psychedelic Horseshit digging on spaceman bubblegum vibe, the minute-n-change drunk on cheap wine/buzzed on cranked wide open gain knob Chrome clatter of "Lasers VS. Lizards" and the rattling locomotive pace of "I Know A Dude" it's as if they're an art punk band with all the filler banished making an album for Rip Off Records.Though the glorifying of overloaded/red lined sound of magnetic tape pushed to it's limits is de rigueur here the punk rock blast shoots into some sinister space-trip more with "Death and A Half" resembling Syd's Pink Floyd riding meteors of fiery grime and using rocket fuel fumes as oxygen and the twisted B-Movie of alien witch cults and the blood thirsty voodoo hippies who die in the process scree of "Ice Cream Man".
Rounding out the album are three brain rattlers (save for the outro piece) the Spaceman 3 discovers grindcore epic "The Artist Formally", another trip into space but this time to play a dance party of "Pentagon Gone" and "Consider Drowning" road music for driving through another urban wasteland.
Cranked to the max, sick lo-fi bliss!
http://www.myspace.com/blastedcanyons
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