Like an artillery barrage of music, The Pope comes out
of left field delivering an apocalyptic punk rock similar to The
Plot To Blow Up The Eiffel Tower. It is one part atomic fusion
energy, one part distortion laced effervescence, one part batter-your-brains-out
drums and one part sadistic yell-fuck. Needless to say this is
not for the meek of heart.
What sets this band apart is the way they use the cacaphoney
to hammer the listener into submission, based in nominal structure
the levels are driven to eleven so that everything is distorted
beyond comprehension. There is a beautiful, but abrasive, ambiance
that is achieved. All parts contribute to the mindfuck equally
as they batter the senses and add to the chaos. Two instruments
deserve special note though: the drums and the bass. In the melee
of music these two could conceivable be called the rocks in the
storm as they provide consistency. The drums aptly tie the individual
pieces together while maintaining a breakneck succession of alterations,
the bass - distorted to no end - takes up a main line position
and helps keep focus on the whole.
So what do you need to do? You need to pick up a copy of this
album and give it to your mother, and when she realizes the
end has come, you can sit back and smile as you crank your own
system to eleven and wait for the four horsemen to come and
take you away.
1) Grip Of The Grape
2) Boots And Pants
3) Bravo Strappado
4) Corpus Christi
5) Crazy New Punk In Town
6) Jazzman Cometh
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