This release makes us pine for live music. The communal gurn of a sweat-stunk back room, the heat and the steam of a DIY shoebox that’s packed tight with low light and writhe. Stacks of amps blast through a grease-sticky air while the bass flicks the grime off the floor… This is all that’s imagined and conjured up during ‘Killadelica’s 42 minutes.
Connecting the dots back is easy. Lysergic lo-fi distortion-based blasts have drenched us from Suicide onwards. ‘Phsychocandy‘, Birthday Party, A Place to Bury Strangers, these are high priests of excessive noise. Every song is a thick soak of sound, a Phil Spector shaped wall made of feedback and wail with a splatter of pop noise thrown over. It’s these touches of colour and genre inflections that keep us alert through the grind.
‘Jean‘ crudely thumps through its Neu/Kraftwerk workout in a cool bind of krautrock and garage. ‘Natasha‘ warms up with new-wave repetitions before diving back into its mess. ‘Agave‘ weaves in organs from crass 60s scuzz, ‘Marie‘ could be club gothic horror. But the slickest and coolest genre-bent sonics here are the surf-tones stuck deep within ‘Eva‘.
‘Eva‘ just stands out completely. Imagine Viagra Boys covered by Alan Vega then produced by mid 90’s Trent Reznor; it’s a mean backstreet freakshow of crushed electronics, light guitar jangle and drone.
While maintaining one volume and thickness, KYB spring surprises throughout. A glint of new texture, a quick blast of light, there’s a playfulness deep in the heat. With a tough glut of love for industrial agro, it’s an album that begs to play loud. And when the worst you can say for the tracks that don’t grab you is ‘they’re just not as good as the rest’, then I’d say that’s a recommendation. I’m just sorry it took me so long.