Labels: X-Mist
Review by: Alex Deller
After a frustrating one-song-good-one-song-bad 7″ on X-Mist, Eniac are back on the scene cranking out some splendidly wonky art-punk with an album chock-full of erratic, danceable goodness. Undulates, surges and splatters like day-glo vomit on the dancefloor, making me think of Milemarker, Brainiac, the Faint, endless sugar highs and greedy fistfuls of brightly-coloured prescription medicines. Highly-sexed, hip-shimmying, fuck-punk that a multitude of androgynous, hollow-cheeked, mopheaded finks would be spilling their collective beans over if this band were American and being photographed gadding between hipster shindigs with troubled c-list celebrity girlfriends in tow. From the broken funk of the guitars, to the schizophrenic vocal ejaculations and right on down to the lurid artwork that features the disturbing image of a cartoon man whose mouth has been replaced with a tight, puckered bumhole, this is fun of the rudest possible kind.