roadside picnic

And back with Roadside Picnic for a second serving of sonic weirdness. Available as a limited 40 cassette via centipede farm, the four track noise niking ‘magpies and lies’ is a wholly differing affair, not quite as fierce some as that full on assault provided for by that bludgeoning ‘and yet it moves’ collection for Jehu and chinaman but nonetheless cultured in something spiked in an uneasy detachment and sense of something foreboding. At over an hours long worth of frequency flipping, sonic distortion and acute isolationism, this slice of shrilled sound sculpturing finds Mr Wiggan / Roadside Picnic operating at the height of his oblique powers. Now I know there’s the old joke about power electronics and the casual referrals to it being akin to having your head drilled but never did I quite expect to hear such flagrant use of garden shed dwelling machinery this side of an early to mid 80’s German industrial ensemble performing panel beating exercises on record – yes I’m talking about you guys Einsturzende Neubauten wherein it appears all manner of drills and circular saws are weaved and processed into the completion of a sorrowful post apocalyptic soundscape. Serving as the sets centrepiece ‘fear of an oath’ makes up what amounts to 2/3rds of the album, split over 2 parts it’s a volcanic aural autopsy ripped in speaker melting wave forms of blurring skree distortion while per part 2 matters appear to solidify and assume a white noise technoid phrasing and all manner of whirring degrading which in truth is even more disturbing a listening experience than the effects of being pinned flat against the wall from part 1’s titanic assault though admittedly it doesn’t help the cause any with the blister forming sun scorched snowstorms that manifest towards the mid way section. That said if its all out audio terrorism that tinkles your fancy then those heads among you loving their space destroyed by industrial acid dipped searing sonics might do well to batten down the hatches for ‘the gift’ and prepare to have all manner of brutalised harsh sandblasted sonic skrees scalds raining upon your listening space – certainly with doubt pissing in the same putrid pool of kylie minoise and sissy spacek. Damaged stuff.

This entry was posted in groovy bastards... and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s