Macro Metal may be a bunch of really stoned guys in a living room with a four track and too many effect pedals, just fucking around and giggling. But so what?
Even with the machine parts and oil drums, the raw sound sources of Neubauten, the CD-ROM inside, and the hoarse, strained vocals, Babyland isn’t very good.
Gwar continued killing things and spraying blood everywhere, singing of destruction, rape, pillage, plunder, and the huge comet coming to destroy Earth.
EBN’s brand of multimedia assault – combining video, audio, and all around spectacle – is far too much for the un-turned-on mind to assimilate all at once.
The lights lowered and a man crouched behind his mixing board and computers and cued the intro for Last Train to Lhasa. That’s when all hell broke loose.
Ah, bourbon. The premier of brown liquors. Visions of rednecks with Jack Daniels T-shirts and tuxedo-clad socialites in ballrooms sit comfortably side by side.
Furnace is sinister, menacing, and not afraid to grab your neck and hurl you through a window of perception in hopes that you’ll cut your line of sight.
Jonny Polonsky has an odd sensibility to his goof indie music. With the blessings of Frank Black, he’s gonna be on every college radio station in a few weeks.