Where they from?
Rhode Island. The New York Jets won their opening game against a woeful Tennessee Titans team led by the ex-Jets head coach Robert Saleh. It was such a strange and surreal feeling watching my team win a game so easily. I’ll be honest, I don’t really trust it. My therapist calls it “attachment issues,” but I don’t listen to anything he tells me.
Why the hype?
What exactly makes a grindcore band sound “zany?” It’s a term that comes up occasionally in this column whenever we cover those grind bands that tend to lean more spastic and goofy (in a good way). You know, the Psudokus of the world. Is it the tendency to pair herky-jerky, chromatic riffs with angry soccer-Dad vocals? Perhaps, and these moist boys have that in spades. But is it maybe something deeper, something about touching that rare confluence between absolute rage and absurdist humor that when done well enhances both aspects? Now we’re talking.
Latest album?
Second and Mystical, self-released. Whatever magic element it is that makes music “zany,” it is executed rather masterfully here. Tasmanian Devil riffs, panicked, desperate drumming and vocals emanating pure disgust, this is music to take a drag and watch the world cannibalize itself to. Jets are going 17-0.
