Alright, all you panty-sniffers and glue-brained lizards, I've got something that will really spin your little cranks. Norway's Flop Machine are rolling into earshot like a syphilitic carnival entangled in a horrid pile-up while transporting their unregulated attractions across state lines. But it doesn't matter what misfortunes befall Flop Machine on their misadventures; they'll still be keyed up to perform, like sparking, wind-up tin-soldiers with tiny drum machines haphazardly embedded in their chests. They are a punk band in the realist and strangest sense of the term.
The band's first full release, Machine Beat Rock And Roll is a synth forward and sleazy, bopped-up and blood-soaked, bumper car joust to the death. One where the winner goes home with the loser's slutty SO, and the loser gets tossed in a dumper behind a sex shop. It's scratchy, scabby, staticky and prone to sinusitis- because when band's fingers aren't strumming guitar strings, they're likely hunting for goblin gold in the holes in their faces.
Flop Machine's sound might be ugly as sin and exude a musk that could bleach the freckles off your cheeks, but that doesn't mean that they don't have the tunes. Tracks like "Shamans" are comprised of a daisy chain of Marked Men worthy hooks that link up like tank tread to push the beast forward, while on songs like "Berlin" the band tries their hand at a busted up and wigged out version of charlatan soul. "Jukebox" sounds like a deconstructed interpretation of the blues from a deteriorating dystopia where hallucinations and tourettes like fits are common symptoms of venereal disease. And if that isn't disturbing enough, the appropriately dreary, space-disco crash of "UFO" reflects on the probable genocide of the human race at the hands of invading disintegration-beam-wielding extraterrestrials.*
From first blush to final snuff, Machine Beat Rock And Roll is generally in poor taste, but for those with a discerning palate, Flop Machine's gooey, electri-fried morsels might just be your favorite new illicit treat.
This tape is out on Painters Tapes (but it might be sold out).
* ET may be doing us a favor here. Have you seen how things have been going on this stinking marble of ours? I'm honestly asking. I'm afraid to look myself. If you could just text me about it later I'd consider it a favor.
