Machismo - Humiliation in Attitude
Machismo is a new act in the American Power Electronics scene that sounds anything but "contemporary". Machismo has taken perverse, diseased electronics and muddy, static-drenched production to a mesmerizing extreme. The idea behind the cassette comes across completed unwashed and unrefined. Each sound and pulsation feels like it was forced into existence, Omar (Anabolic Dimensions) does not let his Noise ride out on autopilot like a lot of the shitty acts coming out of this great country.
Clanging metal scrape's about until some over effected shouting becomes the main focus, the protagonist taking a singular angry tone implying a grim and cold detachment from his audience. You are here to watch, to listen, please don't interrupt. Distorted synth's dance around in a gutturally raw fashion until they almost become rhythmic and the vocals dust themselves off, taking the effects down a notch or two but keeping a certain servility. The soaring and piercing yelps never drone about, they always hit hard and have a very obvious "William Bennett" vibe to them at times, minus the goofiness that William sometimes exhibited when he got a bit too excited. The clashing, the synth bleeding and vocals all mesh perfectly well together and never miss a beat. You really have to give the man a hand at his mixing technique.
Side B begins with a charging drone like water crashing up against a wall in some cellar you're locked up in. Some precise and detailed metal work is heard in the room next door and fluttering electronics twitch about the basement dirge. Chains drag, pieces of metal and junk rattle giving a sordid feel to the whole mess. Nothing is shown at face value until about half-way through when harsh bursts of buzzsaw synths play hit you square in the face. An adept of base and self-seeking pleasures. Vocals, or possibly samples/victim tapes, are buried beneath it all adding to the grim and degenerate feeling of being alone, somewhere distant with nothing but the sounds of an experienced deviant who has proven that he has the ideas, aims, and skills.
Clanging metal scrape's about until some over effected shouting becomes the main focus, the protagonist taking a singular angry tone implying a grim and cold detachment from his audience. You are here to watch, to listen, please don't interrupt. Distorted synth's dance around in a gutturally raw fashion until they almost become rhythmic and the vocals dust themselves off, taking the effects down a notch or two but keeping a certain servility. The soaring and piercing yelps never drone about, they always hit hard and have a very obvious "William Bennett" vibe to them at times, minus the goofiness that William sometimes exhibited when he got a bit too excited. The clashing, the synth bleeding and vocals all mesh perfectly well together and never miss a beat. You really have to give the man a hand at his mixing technique.
Side B begins with a charging drone like water crashing up against a wall in some cellar you're locked up in. Some precise and detailed metal work is heard in the room next door and fluttering electronics twitch about the basement dirge. Chains drag, pieces of metal and junk rattle giving a sordid feel to the whole mess. Nothing is shown at face value until about half-way through when harsh bursts of buzzsaw synths play hit you square in the face. An adept of base and self-seeking pleasures. Vocals, or possibly samples/victim tapes, are buried beneath it all adding to the grim and degenerate feeling of being alone, somewhere distant with nothing but the sounds of an experienced deviant who has proven that he has the ideas, aims, and skills.
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