No Form - s/t - 12

Labels: Muscle Horse – Reagent
Review by: Alex Deller

A horrible, compulsive experience, this. Like worrying a rotten tooth with your tongue or sticking a grubby thumb in some sore part of your anatomy just to check that it still hurts. Things grind and creak. Basslines sway like a late-night drunk at the edge of a tube platform. The vocals sound like they’re somehow being shrieked through both gritted teeth and a length of shit-clogged drainpipe. Though furious, things have an unerring sense of purpose. On the b-side, a horn enters and is blown atonally at seemingly random intervals. The ragged shadow of No Trend looms large. Flipper – sans mirth – are a definite point of reference. Everything sounds queasy and impossibly pained. But the pain is of a type that’s wont to make you spiteful, or crazed enough to start gnawing at whatever the source of discomfort is. It’s all worryingly close to brilliant.