LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER
BY NO-FI SOUL REBELLION
BY NO-FI SOUL REBELLION
Lambs To The Slaughter by The No-Fi Soul Rebellion may just be
the most exciting record I’ve wrapped my ear-hole drums around
since the first time I heard that Fevers And Mirrors affair by
that young Bright Lights fella or whatever the fuck. You know the
one. Big eyes, floppy fringe. Sings a lot about “I’m so neurotic
but it’s ok cause so are you / And also I see you probably have a
crack habit / That’s cool / What is space, anyhow?” and other
concerns of this nature.
No-Fi Soul Rebellion have no time for to yack about the in’s and
out’s of soul-crushing love. Probably they won’t even once use
the word “Neurotic” ever even once again in their lives, if they
ever even did, which is pretty doubtful, to be honest.
Chances are they ain’t no strangers to a crack-den or twenty,
though.
What occurred was that The Duke was sitting about doing something
unbelievably amazing, like maybe reading The Idiot or some other
Iggy Pop novel, or maybe even, who the hell knows, writing some
songs about “Neurotic… space… crack habits?” and so on. The last
thing I expected was for a package to arrive, and for that
package to contain not the couple Kirsten Dunst Pictures I had
bought off of the web-net (they came a couple days later. I know
how important “the facts” and so on are in the world of the
Blogosphere), but in fact an EP by the name of Lambs To The
Slaughter.
You probably know that Lambs To The Slaughter is the title of a
No-Fi Soul Rebellion record, since look, I mentioned it just two
paragraphs ago. I mean come the hell on, man. Keep up, and such.
Other motivational advice.
Lambs To The Slaughter is fantastic, is the truth of the case. If
you can imagine Prince at his filthiest (i.e, sometimes around
1987) plus Outkast at their funkiest chatting each other up in a
filth-drenched pick-up joint of some kind, before having the kind
of sexes fit only for the damned, and giving birth to a fully-
formed 22 year old hooker who only fucks for bass-lines, then not
only are you pretty fucked-up, to be fair, but also, you’re that
bit closer to imagining what these cats sound like.
Or “cat”, to be precise.
What occurred back in the day, is that Mark Heimer stumbled upon
the idea of crafting a musical revolution of some sort. What this
entails, is that he writes songs, records the music onto a mini-
disc, which is then played onstage by his wife, the wonderfully
red-headed Andrea, who plays the Soul System, ie, a hollowed out
bass with a mini-disc player inside.
Whilst she does all sorts of rock-star type stuff like playing
air-guitar and generally being cool as all frozen fuck, Mark
careers amid the audience, doing different sorts of rock-star
stuff like hollering and funking around.
If this isn’t the greatest idea in the history of Rock Music then
it’s in the top 10, man, no shittin.
Crushed onto a compact disc style CD, though, No-Fi have no
onstage (or offstage) antics to fall back on. If it doesn’t rock
me here, now, sitting on my bed smoking a cigarette and wishing
someone could see how fucking cool I look right now, then I don’t
give all the shits in GG’s pocket what the hell the stage-show is
like.
The record is remarkable.
To be honest, the ghost of Har-Mar Superstar crops up now and
again, which is odd on two counts, since A, it means there’s a
short fella who looks a bit like Ron Jeremy prancing around in
his underwear in my front-room, and B, he ain’t even dead yet.
He's just released a new album, for gods sakes. I know, man, I
Reviewed It back in the day.
But these stripped down, funky-as-hell arrangements, these
unbelievably catchy melodies, these porn-flick fuzz guitars, they
can’t help but make a man think back to that little fella in his
underwear bounding around the stage.
This difference is that for some damn reason, this sounds dirty.
Not dirty in a Darling Nikki sense, although musically it ain’t
always that far removed. Dirty in an Aphex Twin kinda way. Dirty
in the way pop music ain’t meant to be, man. It feels subversive,
seedy.
Maybe it’s all the lyrics about “Silence fills the room / As my
body goes boom / In a pile of dust and gore”, or maybe it’s the
distorted-to-all-hell guitar licks. Maybe it’s just cause it’s
funky as sweet bejeesus, and what can a fella do when hearing the
Prime Funk than think about maybe sexing folks in a bathtub
filled with champagne bubbles?
Lambs To The Slaughter is fairly brief, only five tracks long,
but my God is it good. It’s not doing anything especially ground-
breaking, at least nothing that’s ground-breaking this side of
Sex Machine, but it does it in a way that is just so, so
refreshing.
And how enjoyable? Who knows, man, it’s beyond enjoyable. And
it's witty as hell, too. How can a bass-line be so witty, you’ll
be thinking. A bass line can’t even speak, man, let alone make
jokes about “motherfuck” or “cannibalism”. And yet look at the
smile on a fellas face as that verse to The Acrobat kicks in.
The harmonies, the melodies, it’s enough to have a man high as
skag-soaked kite. It’s so inventive, and so gloriously
independent…
I dunno man. I just don’t get how this isn’t rotated on every
motherfucking radio station from here to Helsinki.
The Lambs To The Slaughter EP by No-Fi Soul Rebellion is released
by Wantage USA, and you can pick it up Right The Hell Here.
Thanks folks
Drop The Duke A Line Via Electronical Email
the most exciting record I’ve wrapped my ear-hole drums around
since the first time I heard that Fevers And Mirrors affair by
that young Bright Lights fella or whatever the fuck. You know the
one. Big eyes, floppy fringe. Sings a lot about “I’m so neurotic
but it’s ok cause so are you / And also I see you probably have a
crack habit / That’s cool / What is space, anyhow?” and other
concerns of this nature.
No-Fi Soul Rebellion have no time for to yack about the in’s and
out’s of soul-crushing love. Probably they won’t even once use
the word “Neurotic” ever even once again in their lives, if they
ever even did, which is pretty doubtful, to be honest.
Chances are they ain’t no strangers to a crack-den or twenty,
though.
What occurred was that The Duke was sitting about doing something
unbelievably amazing, like maybe reading The Idiot or some other
Iggy Pop novel, or maybe even, who the hell knows, writing some
songs about “Neurotic… space… crack habits?” and so on. The last
thing I expected was for a package to arrive, and for that
package to contain not the couple Kirsten Dunst Pictures I had
bought off of the web-net (they came a couple days later. I know
how important “the facts” and so on are in the world of the
Blogosphere), but in fact an EP by the name of Lambs To The
Slaughter.
You probably know that Lambs To The Slaughter is the title of a
No-Fi Soul Rebellion record, since look, I mentioned it just two
paragraphs ago. I mean come the hell on, man. Keep up, and such.
Other motivational advice.
Lambs To The Slaughter is fantastic, is the truth of the case. If
you can imagine Prince at his filthiest (i.e, sometimes around
1987) plus Outkast at their funkiest chatting each other up in a
filth-drenched pick-up joint of some kind, before having the kind
of sexes fit only for the damned, and giving birth to a fully-
formed 22 year old hooker who only fucks for bass-lines, then not
only are you pretty fucked-up, to be fair, but also, you’re that
bit closer to imagining what these cats sound like.
Or “cat”, to be precise.
What occurred back in the day, is that Mark Heimer stumbled upon
the idea of crafting a musical revolution of some sort. What this
entails, is that he writes songs, records the music onto a mini-
disc, which is then played onstage by his wife, the wonderfully
red-headed Andrea, who plays the Soul System, ie, a hollowed out
bass with a mini-disc player inside.
Whilst she does all sorts of rock-star type stuff like playing
air-guitar and generally being cool as all frozen fuck, Mark
careers amid the audience, doing different sorts of rock-star
stuff like hollering and funking around.
If this isn’t the greatest idea in the history of Rock Music then
it’s in the top 10, man, no shittin.
Crushed onto a compact disc style CD, though, No-Fi have no
onstage (or offstage) antics to fall back on. If it doesn’t rock
me here, now, sitting on my bed smoking a cigarette and wishing
someone could see how fucking cool I look right now, then I don’t
give all the shits in GG’s pocket what the hell the stage-show is
like.
The record is remarkable.
To be honest, the ghost of Har-Mar Superstar crops up now and
again, which is odd on two counts, since A, it means there’s a
short fella who looks a bit like Ron Jeremy prancing around in
his underwear in my front-room, and B, he ain’t even dead yet.
He's just released a new album, for gods sakes. I know, man, I
Reviewed It back in the day.
But these stripped down, funky-as-hell arrangements, these
unbelievably catchy melodies, these porn-flick fuzz guitars, they
can’t help but make a man think back to that little fella in his
underwear bounding around the stage.
This difference is that for some damn reason, this sounds dirty.
Not dirty in a Darling Nikki sense, although musically it ain’t
always that far removed. Dirty in an Aphex Twin kinda way. Dirty
in the way pop music ain’t meant to be, man. It feels subversive,
seedy.
Maybe it’s all the lyrics about “Silence fills the room / As my
body goes boom / In a pile of dust and gore”, or maybe it’s the
distorted-to-all-hell guitar licks. Maybe it’s just cause it’s
funky as sweet bejeesus, and what can a fella do when hearing the
Prime Funk than think about maybe sexing folks in a bathtub
filled with champagne bubbles?
Lambs To The Slaughter is fairly brief, only five tracks long,
but my God is it good. It’s not doing anything especially ground-
breaking, at least nothing that’s ground-breaking this side of
Sex Machine, but it does it in a way that is just so, so
refreshing.
And how enjoyable? Who knows, man, it’s beyond enjoyable. And
it's witty as hell, too. How can a bass-line be so witty, you’ll
be thinking. A bass line can’t even speak, man, let alone make
jokes about “motherfuck” or “cannibalism”. And yet look at the
smile on a fellas face as that verse to The Acrobat kicks in.
The harmonies, the melodies, it’s enough to have a man high as
skag-soaked kite. It’s so inventive, and so gloriously
independent…
I dunno man. I just don’t get how this isn’t rotated on every
motherfucking radio station from here to Helsinki.
The Lambs To The Slaughter EP by No-Fi Soul Rebellion is released
by Wantage USA, and you can pick it up Right The Hell Here.
Thanks folks
Drop The Duke A Line Via Electronical Email
