crack bytch

‘crack bytch – smells like piss’. 

Old time readers of these musings will be all too familiar of a time long since past when we used to wreak upon your curious earlobes strange sounds from such eminent cassette labels as Scotch Tapes, Love Torture and many more besides. We’ve come to mourn their absence on our beleaguered tape player. I mention all this because when Crack Bytch’s ‘smells like piss’ reared into earshot on one of our daily rambles through bandcamp world, we were immediately time tripped back several years to those halcyon days where hours where spent trying to decipher these Dadaist drone deconstructions in the hope that we could muster a review of some degree of readability. A resident of Alabama, Homewood if you want to be more specific, Crack Bytch ushers forth the kind of intense sonic maelstrom as befitting of those aforementioned labels, doom drone hollows and skree scoured wind tunnels cast and craft an alien environ, an environment without emotion or light, for here there’s a sense of the unease, something of the macabre perhaps the foreboding, blinding silvery orbs radiate a white hot intensity as its author sets his magnifying glass to the sonic spectrum honing in on inner spaces hitherto unheard and unchartered, in truth something which ought to appeal to those admiring of the early sonic manipulations of Pimmon.   

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