Grebe… was squatting in his armchair, the dun decanter already aloft. ‘Shit “huuu”?’ The philosopher enquired. ‘I won’t, thanks,’ Busner countersigned. ‘Simon “huu”?’ ‘I’m sorry – what was that “huu”?’ Simon’s muzzle was uncomprehending. ‘Would you like some shit “huu”?’ The decanter was waggled so that its viscous contents slowly sloshed. Will Self – Great Apes
Another eleven-and-a-half minutes of filth from Liquid Shit. Where the first one (Pillars Of Shit) tipped more to hardcore and at moments the nastier end of grunge, this is resolutely a sludgy affair. We’re straight into the horrors, muscular blown-speaker spatterings, everything clipping and distorted from pickup to final signal, horribly rough and lo-fi.
muscular blown-speaker spatterings, everything clipping and distorted…
Riffs struggle to surface through the slurry, fulsome mid and low that bubbles up in some surprising punk thin-ness and shiny Botch-ist guitar noise that gave me shivers. Is there some death metal in that mess? Maybe in the cavernous vocals reeking of burning hair, the seething bile of Death Absolute, but the drag and despond of the slower forms of extremity is what fills the bowl.
Horribly primitive stuff this, and if you want a physical copy, you’re going to need a cassette player (cheers Dry Cough but that’s no use to me since the head gasket went on that Rover 200). Supposedly there’s saxophone on half the songs, but if it’s there in the rich blend of ugliness that oozed out of my speakers, I am clearly too desensitised to discern. It’s like puking your guts out – not everyone’s idea of fun, but some of us appreciate a good purging now and again. Wipe your mouth and laugh it off.
Scribed by: Harry Holmes