Saturday, March 31, 2007

GOT SLUDGE IF YOU WANT IT...BUT IT COMES WITH A COSMIC PRICE Years from now, when Matador will be known as the AmRep for the late double o's and Matt Kosloffs' pubic hair will be auctioned off at Sotherbys', there will be kids digging through piles of chest hair and gravy lookin' for obscure artifacts from this time in weirdo history. There will be plenty of CDR's, 7"s, etc. filled to the gills with poser shit, but I'm supposing there will be some stuff worthy of the dig. One such dinner plate will be this Snake Apartment 12" just released on the Parts Unknown imprint. Rhode Islands' Snake Apartment seem to fit snugly in with your Urinated-On Trousers...your Cockcleaners...your Helmodummies, etc. but what they got that those dudes don't is two peg legs both rooted firmly in those shitty 80's and those even shittier 90's. Sure, these guys know the second side of 'My War' like the back of their schlong, that's a rather obvious (and very beautiful) thang. But the opening track on this disc, 'Paint The Walls', was a hard flashback to fifteen years ago on those first couple of listens. I shut my eyes and sprang back to Tad yelling at kids in my hometown to stagedive. Was this good? Do I even own a Tad record anymore? After awhile, these self Stalinized thoughts became decent memories and made me think, 'Shit, maybe I should get those Vertigo records outta hock?' Is it time for a re-think on Helmet? I guess anythings better than staring at the walls... Nonetheless, the dudes evenly worship the sludgy riffage of Ginn and the Sub Plopped 90's headshaker sound with equal aplomb and pretty gnarly results. Maybe I'll even knock the remote off my paunchy gut and see these guys if they're stupid enough to wanna play New York. Hot damn! So...if you consider yourself 'Mr. Vegas', send twelve bones to fatrich1@yahoo.com and lemme know what you think...Like I give a shit...

There will be a slight decline in posting here for a week or so. Shithead ghetto youth and banker asswipes have caused me to need extreme therapy in the form of hot rock massages and breakfasts at the Frontier. Hopefully you can get along on your own.

1 comment:

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