Prior to exposure to this "best of" compilation, I
was blissfully ignorant of Blurt's existence, in a manner
similar to my previous ignorance of Jim Thirlwell's band
Foetus. There are other similarities between these bands in that
they were both post-punk bands formed in the late '70s to early
'80s, they are both still alive and together, and they have both
dwelled in obscurity for the whole of their 20+ years of existence.
And they have an edge that places them so far out of the realm
of any musical genre that either could possibly inhabit, that
they, in essence, define the wholes of the respective microcosms
which they comprise.
In other words, nobody does it the way they do it.
Drums, guitar and saxophone: that's it. What issues forth is
an inspired or imbecilic gutter stream of the nastiest, sludgiest
jazz-punk-funk-rock ever to pollute your ear canal. With inebriated
fury, it leaves red-hot contrails in its wake, roaring and screeching;
cutting with an edge both jagged and sharp.
I hate the saxophone- really, I do. It is used to wreak the sorts
of musical anaesthesia that we would willingly allow Roddy
Piper or Keith David to beat out of us in an interminable
fight scene. But oh, in these hands, it becomes an instrument
of the lowest sort- nasty, raunchy and vile. It transcends cool,
boss, rad, the bomb or any other slango we might use to place
it on the pedestal of unreachable superlative.
Or maybe it's all an elaborate piece of junk: a hot rod with
a glued-on faux rocket engine. It is, perhaps, a bluff: utterly
lacking in substance or style, dressed up with funky beats and
But I won't call; no, I fold.
1. Get Some
3. My Mother Was A Friend Of An Enemy Of The People
4. The Fish Needs A Bike
5. Cherry Blossom Polish
6. Empty Vessels
7. Ruminant Plinth
8. Enemy Ears
9. Bullets For You
10. Sharks Of Paradise
11. Down The Argentine
13. The Flags
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