No Balls, Pop. 1280, Pigeon Religion

Jason Jackowiak

No overblown intro this week, just a batch of ass-chafing scum-rock delivered at various tempos by various gaggles of hirsute na'er do wells. Enjoy the tinnitus.

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Our first baggie this week contains the stupidly limited (187 copies) private press 7″ of sludgy, kraut-riffing protopunk from No Balls on Diskad, which, so we're told, is a side-project of one of the glue-huffing Brainbombs (they all look alike). The A-Side Kicks of with a blast of bedraggled stoner riffs dragged kicking and screaming by a meandering Motorik beat, it eventually morphs into a weird Sabbathian-Kraut wonderland where the flowers are all dopesick and moaning. On the flip, a killdozer of a riff marauds everything in its path, including the weird rhythmic grunts until erupting into a
feedback maelstrom that makes the whole thing sound like its gasping for its last breath. Still unsure of whether it's meant to be played at 33 or 45, but we suppose it's like one of them Nancy Drew adventures, y'know, you make the call. No Balls aren't interested in reinventing the wheel, they just want to get it blazed out to the point
where it stops rolling entirely. Aquarius had copies, but with the paltry amount that exist, chances are slim that they still have any lying around. Best to get a googlin' if you want this puppy.

The next sack of filth this week comes from NYC creepers Pop. 1280 and their “Bedbugs” b/w “Times Square” 7-inch, which was self-released by the band. They appear to be unsigned, maybe of their own design, but if not, labels will undoubtedly come a running soon because the textured, menacing racket laced with monotone maniac vocals this lot conjures so easily is too good not to make its way into more than a handful of filthy mitts. The A-Side spills tales of vermin and vice, aided and abetted by the aforementioned talk-speak vocals that help lend some measure of credence to the gutter-trolling veneer that coats this tune like stank on a homeless wastoid. The B-Side is based on a garroted riff that circumvents a primordial, pounding rhythm amid more wistfully-delivered tales of spilled semen and loose morals. Are they the cro-mag evolution of skull music, or just its bastard offspring? To be honest, both seem likely, then again, when the results are this spindlly and squirmy, who really gives a shit? Hit up the band via MySpace to score one of these for yr very own.

We've saved the dirtiest for last, a new three song platter from AZ scumfucks Pigeon Religion, Dead Boss EP on the estimable Gilgongo Records. These guys have clearly huffed too much spray paint and jerked off on one too many Cows records, and as a result, the A-Side is two barely intelligible tracks of moaning, like a bum attempting to orgasm by sticking his dick into a rat trap. “Henderson” ups the fidelity to shit-fi standards, then proceeds to piss itself (and a light socket) for 2 minutes in an attempt to emulate The Jesus Lizard's “Blockbuster”. Somehow, the B-Side is better still, with a foreboding bassline nicked from a better band and sutured onto a decaying riff that fizzles out like a dying star amid vocals that fall just on the right side of inept. The whole thing might be mastered at 39rpm as it doesn't sound quite right at either 33 or 45. There's something dirty in that AZ water that creates fucking brilliant wastrels. Available from the label and scores of good distros everywhere.

That's all the dirt that's fit to print this week, but check us out again next week for another blast of foul weather tunage.

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