Seeming like the eccentricity was sucked out of us all, noise is subtext for muddled vocal arrangements and the deeper side of darkness. Mask falls short in the arrangement category with monotonous beats and faulty sound structures, filling the void with new wave keyboard sounds or advanced computer tweakage. This album, for the most part, was poorly constructed and there is nothing about it that pleases me, makes me dance, or even gives that good techno sense of sex. Good techno wreaks sensuality, making you dance, giving the proverbial visual every now and then, whatever.
Song three, The AttaQ, sounds like a ritual rendition of Catholicism pouring out your local ten O'clock neighborhood mass, with chorus's observed as saying, "We did it for Allah." Huh? Track four, Whitecane, has such great potential to be a great little techno, crazed, dance for hours ditty. But the ritualistic activity is still there in the vocal arrangements. Even the guitar work surrounds the entire dynamic area of techno body, but just falls short with monotony. Track five, Nuklear Suicide - what great work at first, but in the first thirty seconds you hear the same beat pervasive to the end. All the tunes here are like that!
It's just I'm finding myself so pissy with the build into the songs potential and hearing what peaks my curiosity, skimming that depth inside of even mediocre work that there's nothing to say here other than watch for them to mature in sound, creative structures, gigging money for better mics and lots of influential matter. Lots of influence need to be incorporated into this complicated, yet unfiltered, pseudo techno they like to call home.
Post: Pet Set Records, 827 W Washington St, San Diego, CA 92103-1804
Phone: (619) 548-8718