The anatomy of a pair of peeling, toxin-sweating brainstems which have sprouted from cracks in the concrete trow paths of that slither pit called New York City have once again exposed themselves to rot before the gaze of god's naked twitching eye through the third installment of John Toohill and Bran Schlia's cave hippie cacophony Ismatic Guru, an EP unassumingly titled III. This crooked crow, acid felching, groovy goblin, tape-worm-tangoing throng only has 5 minutes of coherence to spare for your ears before regressing into a puddle of its own eggy sick. However, that 20th of an hour is more than enough time to pitchpole your membrane and leave you feeling like you just licked a line of bad dope off a day glow frog. Chewy, razor-wire chords floss between spooky synths, hacksaw-toothed vocal chucks, and night-stalking red-eyed bassline- a gregarious bundle of noise that bumbles through an ambiance as damp and frantically gloomy as a midnight birthday party for a vampire experiencing a mid-unlife crisis. It feels about as prickly as a briefly lucid Wild Man Fischer set with a hit of This Heat on his tongue, or a restored Jesus Lizard demo produced by Captain Beefheart thought lost in a fire, or some such similar auditory derangement that Frank Zappa might have signed so that he could unleash its disheveled aura onto a hapless and psychically unguarded world. In short, this freak machine can truck; be careful that it doesn't run you down.
Sink or float, it's your choice. Same when it comes to Swimming Faith or Steak and Cake.
