Spoiler alert: This is not your normal run of the mill review because Girl Band are not your everyday band.
Umbongo of intense swathes of guitar builds to furious echoes. A festival of noise then quiet. Beseech before the guitar alarm goes off to the heartbeat drum. Chaotic battering, it’s fever pitch; real nightmare scenario. I look crap with my top off, quirky Pears for Lunch. Yelling at a runaway bass. Tear your hair out sonic histrionics then the bass, go bananas take a breather then go proper mental – phew Baloo, playing percussion down the hall, no room for convention here, taking their time – speaking directly to your soul.
I can’t think about it or I might cry.
There’s that crazy bass back in the mix. He’s gone hitting things In plastic and repeating repeating repeating. Guitar breathing like a snoring man. Something weird this way comes. Heartbeat drums again. Loops. Wtf are you singing man?
My brain may burst.
Paul, that sinister motherfucker, he’s in the room. Almost normal. He’s angry. Freestyle – come on! Pulsating. Beats. Aaaaaaghhhhhh. Frenzy! Smash it up; go shit arse crazy. Enough. Noise of the last Riddler. A trade off I don’t even know. Its over. Texting an Alien is pointless and I don’t know why I’m doing it but its downbeat. I can talk about it as the noises layer in smooth arcs. Distortion breaks it up. Shuffles to a stop.
Fucking Butter spreads around my head. Car alarm riffing folds around the tapping. Noise. Noise. Noise skips and turns and comes back round. Everything seems Ok. There’s a production line between my ears. Here comes a monster driving a bass line, an he got groove baby. But then he went to the shop and came back Texas drawl. Its gonna blow but the bass says no. No. NO.
The Witch Dr beats his drum. Talk real fast bro. He no nice. Demons growl. Gotta run. Industrial jungles muscle in. Shoot you down raygun style. Stone cold crazy chachachacha. Torn asunder in a painful demise.
Amazing, hideous, glorious. Music to wake up gasping for air to, I dare you.