TERRIFIC TEAM-UP: HYPERWUMP (MODWUMP MEETS HYPERCUBE) COSMIC SWIRLY THANG

What happens when Modwump (Craig Manga) teams with Hypercube (Rodrigo Passannati)? A "post ambient trauma" rises in the guise of Hyperwump, and from that merger Cosmic Swirly Thang springs (courtesy of Black Box Recordings and Band Camp). 

And man, oh man, is Cosmic Swirly Thang ever one helluva killer LP: so sweetly nightmarish that it'll have one writhing in its many dark avenues, as it sounds on one level fierce and on another, plain damn clammy.

The title track does, in fact, define it. It's certainly swirly, but also big, banging, crude yet all so smooth in its pop-ulating groove. It references a battered brain or cut gut, but in either form, inciting no regrets: a bodacious blend that hurts so bad, it's goddamn good.

Its (arguable) spiritual companion piece, "Quantum Pop Hit" and its "Ian Haygreen RMX" counterpart are as provocative, and though I can't pretend to know what what they mean, I'll sure say this: They friggin rock, albeit in taunting, torturous ways.

In fact, they not only torture and taunt, their calamitous climate grows creepier as they roll, simulating the far-out noises of Frankenstein's lab, with snappy sparks and trippy gears, though I suppose their ingredients could just as well be ascending from the blood-slurping corridors of Dracula's castle. In either way we get a macabre duo that covers the dark, iconic bases: the LP's evident intent.

Other sounds are more alien. In the case of "Cosmic Peel" and its chilly "Station Zero RMX" sequel, one gets the impression of a monstrous takeover, their percussion inspiring visions of marching War Machines and blasting Heat-Rays. To accompany their beat, "Unidentified Sonic Object" sculpts an extra-terrestrial beast flopping from a crusty cylinder, ready to exterminate; and its "Humberto Alvarez RMX" multiplies the militant Martians a hundredfold. "Thora X", on the other hand, details a ferocious, faraway landscape upon which humans haphazardly land: a slimy, dangerous variant of what Mario Bava or Ridley Scott would paint. 

If the latter tracks are, in fact, alien-based, then there are others that reflect science fiction of a different kind. "Betamax Killed the Videostar" presents a melody for  high-tech transference (cool, old-school, "Alphaville" stuff for sure). "Gas Addicts" and its "FLVZ RMX" constitute "Betamax'"s cathartic aftermath, with computerized explosions that might usher Logan and Jessica into their long, fateful run; while "Metal Submarine Music" and its "Liam Boyle Fucked Up RMX" are unabashed Jules Verne/Captain Nemo-fueled: judgmental dictations to set a wayward world right. Oh, and the groovy, "Cosmic Swirly Thang's gIRL RMX" by Dan Svrc is a Cherry 2000 rendezvous turned tight: switched on, that is for hard, surreal delight. 

Two, additional tracks prove more so amorphous (and because of their singularity, perhaps smack of the title track). For example, "Roswell Fantasy Chennel"--and its "Seigfried Grundmann RMX", "Frankie Machina RMX" and "Henri Sizaret AkA Auto Reverese" trilogy--could be backdrops for a series of exotic, profane executions; whereas "Fat Ugly Boy Cuts a Rug" and Ian Cahill's rowdy "Comfort Within Noise RMX" spit of sadistic self-sacrifice: people hurting themselves or even others for the sheer, sick sake of it. In any case, we still get prime-choice examples of terror, even if they're much more open-ended in scope. 

If Cosmic Swirly Thang is any indication of what Manga and Passannanti can stir, I'd sure feel gypped if they didn't sequelize, but for now, I'm just pleased to ruminate the rude compilation that stands--and so should you!

Swirl that Hypercube thang at 

https://blackboxrecordings.bandcamp.com/album/cosmic-swirly-thang?fbclid=IwAR33q8N1WFQBTUsghrCZkLnYgulAllCcTkM43Bcc2v6wd6JZBlDUlTVQTCA

MODWUMP'S MUSIC FOR BUNKERS

During this surreal time of coronavirus isolation, Modwump's on-target offering, Music for Bunkers is an ideal way to spend an extended session within one's four-wall confines.

The album is divided per two flavors culled from the same coin, with certain electronic selections displaying the natural tensions that spring from any given, dire circumstance and others smacking of revolutionary hope.

"Obsolete Machinery", the opening track, is as swell way to set the pace, spitting forth a wide range of dripping, atmospheric doom, as eerie as a sound-effects record spun to scare and far more foreboding than any stormy night. 

One can detect similar, unsettling traces in the sinister slant of "Papier Machete", which hints at propagandized, Chicken Little fears. The same paranoia splatters from out "Pitter Patter", which gushes of subtle but sublime water torture. "Vaccine for the Masses" and "Boris and Donald" are even more rattling with their gradual proclamations of clamping latches and stinging springs: a set of dungeons brimming of the best and worst of hardcore renderings. But "Dr. Soul" re-imagines it all, with a grating queue of reckless escape that could reduce one to little more than a big skid along some heated road. 

On the upswing, we get "Smithereens", which still presents an apocalyptic ascent, though with a big, damn smile slapped on it. "This Ain't Heaven" churns the same dynamic: creepy in a way, but joyful in spite of its mean misdirection. The cleansing "Vitamin D", the wafting "Blue Skies" and hellzapoppin' "Curfew Crazy" are the strangest and most euphoric of the set, with terse tingles and a stick-it-in-your-ear spitefulness that sure pushes more for life than death.

On the whole, the ambivalent swings of Music for Bunkers" are both dirty and clean, but most of all, perfect for those inner-sanctum interludes when one can't (and maybe shouldn't) get out.

Indulge while the opportunity is ripe:
https://headhumprecords.bandcamp.com/album/music-for-bunkers.

MODWUMP'S FEAR OF A PINK PLANET: PUNKISH SOUNDS FOR ALTERNATE VIBES

I must confess, if the title Fear of a Pink Planet had come from any other source, I'd have dismissed it as another whiny, woe-is-me anthem. However, coming from Craig Manga's Modwump, the title bleeds an old-school, in-your-face projection. It’s unapologetic, feisty, with hymns for those who feel the urge to protest, whether their shells be soft, rough or a smidgen of both.

The intent is amplified in the title track, with an old-time blurb from a fear-the-queer, classroom reel, followed by a mean explosion that rattles the senses with its anti-pop gyrations.

Nevertheless, the rowdy vibe isn’t across the board, making room for a swift progression, as represented best by the crass “Aliens Probed Elvis”, where extra-terrestrial know-how gets a much needed tutorial in hip-swingin' fun, but for flavorful darkness, nothin' can beat the parental bite of "Bela Lugosi's Dad": a tune that spurts of pure, parental fright.

That same nippin' vibe can be found in  “Bingo Stole My Baby”, which is as fast-paced as it's chaotic (and identifiable to anyone who's lost some endeared, Australian trinket). “Krautmaskreplica” is also an equally meaningful mate: a kind of alternate theme for “The Munsters”, but where the clan is nowhere near as wholesome. Still, my favorite among this borderline, mod-culture cluster is “Sons of Sams”, though perhaps not for its presumed intent: It’s gun-based, but more so freedom-fueled, precipitated by a terrific Chuck Heston speech that gets one ready to fight for anyone's stomped rights. 

Other tracks take on a sweeter, electronic delivery. "No Methane", the album’s opening entry, spews a swell layer of syrupy despair: the kind of sublime lament that one might engage while prancing in a mosh pit. "Spider Vagina" is its inviting companion piece, presenting sex with dire consequence. (One must enjoy even when authority condemns.) "Downward Doggin" plays the same game: dark, hard and brightly dreary. It’s a blanket for one’s outcast state and a shield to block all those bigoted rocks thrown one’s way. “Skinner Box” becomes the behind-the-scenes armor to that shield: a cushioning costume for slicing and dicing, as the piercing rhythm cheers one on.

Though these aforementioned entries perform with varying zeal, it might be those frantic, automated ones that the listener remembers best. “Better Than Sexface” is the perfect cruising at rocket-speed example, whereas “The Butterbusk Catgut Trading Co” and “Tranny Europe Express” are the rebellious bumps and grinds. “Taming of the Shrooms” umbrellas the latter three, planting further demonic seeds to foster Modwump’s epic angst. 

There's even more than the aforementioned to be found in Fear of a Pink Planet (powerful remixes galore) if one dares to indulge. The album is wide in scope and at heart, pure punk. It never once buries its head in the sands, but rather pokes one in the throat, in hopes that one will poke back. 

Slip Modwump's belligerence on for size at 
https://blackboxrecordings.bandcamp.com/album/fear-of-a-pink-planet?fbclid=IwAR3uk5MBis1jHy2WSaRSLbc0td2CNRrigLit1Xa5eDAov-cLYpbZYt0cHQo.  

BLACK BOX RECORDING PITCH COLLECTION #12: MONDO PORNO

Anthologies are great, especially if they strike a thematic chord. When the submissions are aligned with precision, the results can add further meaning to what one already knows and adores. 

This applies to Mondo Porno: Black Box Recording Pitch Collection #12, where Craig Manga shuffles the established cards and throws caution to the seedy wind. His implicit string of perturbed pornography remains intact (through naked lyrics and thrusting vocals), but in this new, Mangabros queue, the combination is more stylized, subversive and complete. 

It also smacks of loneliness, and isn't that the cause of any misconstrued distrust and weird lust?

For the sake of  Manga's "The Fag Trucker Variations" (see Aug '18), one can presume that loneliness (plus the crazed confusion it spawns) set the titular serial killer on his splattering stream, but what of his character-crushing interludes, those cheeky, sandwiched seasonings?

They're certainly stationed as part of the "Mondo Porno" string, flowing from the eponymous and jarring "Juggernought Mix" to Manabros vs Hypercube's galling "Mancandy (Fag Trucker Detour)": mean stuff that sets the heart in panic mode, maybe far too hard, far too fast, though no one selects Manga's work for its delicacy. 

As dressing on this accelerating gyro, we get "King of Tarts" (a Johnny Wadd Mix), which spotlights the rise of a porn-star hopeful, prodded by John Holmes' dangling specter, with the injurious "Slowburnblue" (per {g}IRL Blackfeather coughmix) punctuating the inevitable, can't-measure-up lament. "Reeperbahn" is an arguable, slimy slice of tomato to top that monstrous meat (smooshing in all the mocking juices). And as for the "Mondo Porno" title tune...well, it might be the most profound ingredient yet, where all sorts of hideous emotions drag through the shaky, VHS tracking. 

As prologues and epilogues to these macabre layers, we're given periods that weave among the sensual attacks, whether in flashback or flash-forward form.  

"Night Snow" introduces the queue with beyond-the-credits disgrace: a worthy B-side to "Mondo Porno", reanimating a  profane gesture that repeats and repeats and repeats.  "Mangabros vs Comfort with Noise's "Jadafire is Squirtgirl III (Wetdream Version)" stands as its sadistic companion, cranking enough satanic strokes to make one choke.

This sick, salacious climate carries through "Mile-long Club" (with Fred und Luna), which overloads with a record-breaking blast of suicidal gang-banging, underlined and italicized by the irascible duality of Mangabros vs Microchip Junkie's glittery "Rock n roll Part 3 (World of Gadd Mix)" and "Sexblinkpink", but why dance in all that sticky blood when resplendent repentance calls? Yeah, right!

"His Side" swings to an old career-guy's lustful, fruitless toiling, but at what cost to his soul? The results come through in "Stoma" (per the Craig M. He-Whore Mix), where a neglected spouse sprints and bends for webcam glory. "Tom Boy Milk" only reinforces the sorrowful motif:  Let that freak flag fly, no matter the discomfort for those involved. 

Manga wisely concludes his uncanny venture with a quaint "Night Snow" reprisal: a short, bittersweet exit that confirms one's inescapable fate. Try as one may, one can never exorcise one's demons or evade the punishment they bring. That nurtured badness will only grow and grow and grow, much like the screen-gem, night snow.

For Manga/Trucker fans (for those who enjoy mind-scraping tunes of any sort), "Mondo Porno" is a pitch worth swallowing. 

Open your ears nice and wide at ... https://blackboxrecordings.bandcamp.com/album/mondo-porno-bbr-pitch-collection-12?fbclid=IwAR2tHWmGibzrQf147BCHgfMR1fw5rUa1sr4es6F21iJHV6NIAOENSA2iq-8.

MODWUMP: ANIMAL BITRATE (A MANGABROS, EXPERIMENTAL TRANSFUSION)

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/.

MANGA'S TERROR-TRUCKER TESTAMENT!!!

Craig Manga (Mangabros) is a conjurer of clashing vibes, both in sound and theme. His music conveys it's wise to harness one's Hyde (and above all, never justify one's self-loathing), for once this angst is unleashed, its impact stays intractable.

This psychological germination characterizes Manga's Aug 31st Black Box Recordings release, the Fag Trucker Variations, Vol 1: Backdrop and (set for an on-the-heels-of date) Vol 2: Foreground.

At the heart of Manga's torrential trek is a hypocritical, serial killer: a confused and lethal man of homophobic ilk, who harbors the same sexual penchant as those he mutilates. Through his bigoted torment, he tracks his prey in a corroded truck and plants the carcasses upon the dim roads he roams: a Johnny Appleseed/John Wayne Gacy hybrid (with a little "Jeepers Creepers" along the frayed seams), sowing the unfurling tar with severed seeds.

His origin is described through Manga's distorted reverberations, which grow ever more incongruous as his weird, lustful hate matures within one's ears. It's the trucker's uncanny interludes, however, (those shadowed, off-the-cuff paths) that fertilize his gut-wrenching status, recalling the raw, sickly stuff that made Tobe Hooper and H.G. Lewis legends.  

As mentioned, the content is served in two, related cuts: one instrumental (Backdrop) and the other, vocalized (Foreground, which includes new, Manga lyrics). This two-part approach is clever, for it symbolizes the dueling emotions of the eponymous killer, as well as his victims'. In this regard, each part presents a precise mood, a particular mindset, but in the end, only one unyielding nightmare comes to fruition. 

Also, like Manga's Deepfleshred characters, Mr. Z and Nada (see 11/17), the notorious Fag Trucker has achieved an emblematic mark. Experimental-music fans, therefore, would be smart to leap in, if only to say they're among the first to give the madman's crimson roots a hardy shake. On the other hand, the saga connects and extends beyond this new material, retouching those ambitious tests that inspired the composer's epic, terror-trucker testament.

For Fag Trucker Variations' updates, visit ...  ://mangabros.bandcamp.com/album/f-g-trucker-variations-backdrop-edition.