XBXRX – O XBXRX – O

XBXRX - O

XBXRX - O

You need XBXRX. You might not realize it. Hell, you might not even have a loving clue who the fuck these sons of the south are but, believe me, their place in the tumultuous underground racket is as important as anything you’ve ever read on Pitchfork’s listless lo-fi brother/sister/cousin/nephew/lazy-assed blogomatic siphon “Altered Zones” (not “States” so Ken Russell won’t have to meet the plot rolling until Sofia Coppola decides to remake The Devils with Russell Brand as Oliver Reed and Scarlett Johansson;s tits as Vanessa Redgrave) because they want no part of that bullshit. They are not bedroom noodlers. They don’t meep in the shadows of their sublet rewriting pop into dreadful obscurity.

XBXRX are reactionaries. Loud, brash, loving maniacs who currently tour in beach ball costumes with a fuckload of balloons because balloons are fun and there aren’t really words to half of their songs (the only one I’ve been able to decipher in my ten-year love/hate affair is “THERE’S A CAT IN THE GARBAAAAAGE!!!”) so what the fuck do you expect but an end of the world party any/every time until the furies get it right?

On record, they’re a mess. A glorious and deliberate one. They punish days of freakouts into minutes and release whatever they can, whenever they can with all the teenage abandon that first got them into this racket and totally and, consequently, saw them banned from venues across the globe with screeches and screams and blast beats and whatever the fuck else happens to be spinning around their brains at the time.

You could take the high road and say they were deconstructionists but to do so would undermine the insouciant joy inherent in their amplified “FUUUUCKKK!” Yes, XBXRX can play their instruments. Sometimes, they can play them very well but who cares?

This is chaos, baby. And it’s a fucking blast.

XBXRX – O, reviewed by Charles on 2010-11-10T16:25:24+00:00 rating 3.1 out of 5



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