Change characterizes life, though it doesn't often come with the best terms. Craig Manga/Mangabros' "change", under the clever, modified label, Modwump (remember "Naked Lunch'"s Mugwumps?), is one of those grand, inspiring exceptions.
Modwump's two-part journey, Animal Bitrate, is bizarre as hell. Much of the electronic mix is abetted by toy instruments and broken drum machines; and that's just part of what makes the ride so emotionally evolving.
As a vast, electronic extension, Animal Bitrate injects cynical, science-fiction concerns into one's brain. Even more so, with each and every connecting chunk and subliminal call, it digs bit by bit into the subconscious, scraping and digging up solemn thoughts and sparking them with wild energy. (If the truth be known, Marcel Prevaritura's cover artwork, which kicks off this post, is an apt representation of Animal Birtate's topsy-turvy flow. The artist's illustration, featured after the initial paragraph, conveys the tracks' tricky demeanor, as well: impetuous on the surface, but upon scrutiny, damn meaningful: case in point, the contained "Hunt the Child Catcher" game. Quite clever...)
Modwump's commences its epic experiment with a pounding, industrialized welcome: creepy in its circuitry, but vigorous enough to make one's fingers snap. However, it doesn't take long before it gets rougher, the sounds careening into those gruff, Mangabros growls we've come to appreciate. These provoking notes morph into a bullying blast that no one (with any sincere trace of mettle) could ever evade, and as such, one must engage in the bestial brawl presented.
As this gargled stream touches its haughty, halfway mark, one recalls the mighty Mad Max, though not so much in road-warrior mode, but rather a version thrust into a perilous enclosure that makes Thunderdome look tame.
This afflicting spree can't help but tucker one out, and from there, the dial turns, stumbling upon something akin to "Logan's Run": a theremin trek through a flashy, love-making tunnel, where every synthetic vulgarity flies in one's face. In its specialized, wayward form, the tick-tocking feeling is nice: the fornicating allusions creating a thick, sweaty taste.
When the ecstasy subsides (and a thing this intensely sublime can't help but do so), a gear-sprung coolness ascends, but who we kiddin'? That ol' seediness permeates. In fact, its portions have only grown more anxious with the album's progression: It's "Escape from New York" time, with a mutinous mission implanted straight into one's neck, but for what finite purpose, what infinite plan?
Banging trash cans and squealing vermin determine one's steps. Wailing hints of crazed Hendrix, of "A Clockwork Orange", of pinned-open eyes and slithering tears define one's lot in life. One has crossed into a new, mental dimension: stung, stark and masochistic.
This new niche blossoms further within its final-phase thumps, burps and bleeps. One might as well possess metal instead of bone, steel instead of flesh. Hell is Heaven, in a capsized chamber where one's thoughts are no longer one's own. But then, without one's personalized fuel, the reverie wouldn't be what it is.
In other words, Modwump's Animal Bitrate can summon uniqueness, even when one is controlled.
Engage Modwump's weird, bit-by-bit transfusion at ... https://submarinebroadcastingco.bandcamp.com/.
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