Thursday, January 08, 2009

Lightning Beat Man And His No Talent
Wrestling Rock’n’Roll

This, oh holy laggards and lung-bleeds of sleaze legend, is the first ever 4-track freak-out hobble cobbled amidst slum-dank kitchens and derelict conditions from the ineffable beast of bedlam and spiritual Texan berserker Mr Beat Man. Ayussss, yass n’ yessir, the Swiss by birth but medal-bearing steak-shearing tower of blare-bel sniping Texan by nature through issuing such a relentless storm of seizure-scrabbling adventures in vinyl and gut-contracting compact disc, began his campaign of heroic cretiny with this caustic carotid quaffer. As the cognoscenti of calamity can smell a continental turnstile away this is a track record constituting such a hazy bad things diet the Buttholes would be baffled, Hazil Adkins left toilet-bound and Bob Log whimpering in a diaper in some dungeon having sought frantic refuge in a torture garden of revolving gore. This noxious nugget bursts forth with the masochistically ecstatic glee of the curtailment of constipation after a heavy regime of codeine and cider and a few other concoctions inbetween times, or days, perchance, and is the perfect case to hold up in courts of sores and nausea in any country to show what bands in the VR stable have to live up to. That many do in excelsis is another fairytale to keep yer kith n’ kin safe n’ warm with, slithering like slugs and cig butts in your morning cups. As he still does, just slightly more refined, if possible, Beat Man here splurts out cacophonous dins of psychotic glee and unrestrained perversity like I’m Gonna Kill You Tonight and Wrestling With Satan, yet also regales your withered sinews with the lovely scab-picking country lilt-a-leer of Honey Baby Blues and Baby Fuck Off. Oh aye, ok then.
A toxic treat glorying in inelegant ineptitude with Little Richard screeches if he was reincarnated as a confused horny dawg whose dang had ling-longed off a lifetime or two ago and let loose among the canine equivalent of a Girl Guide camp hosting the Hugh Hefner household for an award show. Home-made mong-out of the highest order.
Stu Gibson

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