Where the from?
Philadelphia, PA. I had the flu last week. It was all a blur of throwing up in cars, sweating profusely on the coach and watching the Jets defense let up touchdown after touchdown. Oh yeah, at some point the Brewers won the World Series, but that was most likely one of the afternoons I was hacking up clear stomach goo into a toilet bowl.
Why the hype?
Speaking of ectoplasmic stomach entrails, Shunt are the current gore kings of the surprisingly robust slimewave of bands that invade the Mr. Beery’s parking lot every august. Shunt encapsulates both ends of the grind spectrum, with razor-tight, gore-soaked blasts that give way to the bouncy castle-inflected hardcore parts that are just so popular with the kids today. The result is music you can just easily barf to as you can fuck to it, no comment given as to what it’s like actually doing either.
Latest release?
Mesenteric Torsion, self-released. To me, very few goregrind albums could be described as having “character,” but this one does, a herky-jerky zombie slowly stumbling into your lap to see what he can munch on. You know, the type of person we let run the country!
