Blonde Redhead
The Expression of the Inexpressible (Touch & Go)
by Jon Sarre
I hope to God that these conceptual purty-anti-melodic noodler nitwits aren’t as fucking earnest as they come off. I mean, this is like “post-futurist” Spinal Tap, right (either that or the soundtrack to the Godard film Sonic Youth never got around to making – and, when co-producer/Fugazi-grump Guy Picciotto starts mutterin’ nonsense in French, it even sounds like Godard!)? If this Blonde Redhead project is serious, which it undoubtedly is, in an eighth-grade literary journal sort of way, how’ve they gotten to album number four playin’ hit-the-strings’n’toms-every-once-in-a-while-nod-’til-ya-drop (or drool) feeble excuse for “post-rock” with meaningless (sorry, expressions of inexpressible), idiotically pretentious lyrics like “corrupt temptation speed x distance = time pain in my leg a needle pointing at neon” (from “speed x distance = ripping off yoko ono”)? How’ve they passed themselves off as a fucking band for so long? Is Steve Shelley really, really that tone-deaf as to have initially signed these scam “art”ists to his Smells Like Records label (and thus given them their first vomit-inducing fawning half-wit college-zine/hip NYC cokehead press notices – and, while 
we’re on the subject, since when did short poetry pieces become confused with record reviews – there’s one in the bio, I swear!)? Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated? No, of course not… cuz Blonde Redhead is like a metallic subway jumping chasms of icy blue wonkiness only to arrive a millennium later, like a skronky bit of snot from the garter of Fellini’s left tear duct, I, too, was moved to tears… (inaccurate adaptation of various descriptions of Blonde Redhead’s music as culled from their bio).
