When does it end? This hateful oroboros, this perpetual motion machine, with gears grinding in perfectly efficient brutality, leaving us all numb to death and indifferent to suffering? We built a cathedral of vengeful algorithms, a blood-soaked, sacrificial altar made of gold and silicon, upon which we cast everything that ever made us human, so that we could, willingly and faithfully, beg the favor of our digital gods who bless us with endless ways to watch each other die. Purified in the sacred light of screens, we are ritually born again as statistics, demographics, data, a mixture of impotent rage and quiet resignation, to be manipulated for money, for votes, for attention, for anything they need from us, towards hatred, towards misery, towards anything they need us to feel, towards whatever means we will let each other die. And yet, this madness, this inhumanity, has not broken the fever. Cowed and demoralized we pray for consecration. Unto sickness, give addiction! Unto anger, give violence! Unto poverty, give apathy! Unto depression, give delusion! Give us that which allows us to treat the symptoms of our pain, while refusing to address their underlying causes. And so the sickness festered, laying dormant, under a veneer of market fluctuations, frothing pundits, and politicians vying to be celebrities. First slowly, then all at once, it burst, in a thousand ways in a hundred places: videos of killer cops and the funerary aftermaths, endless stories of cruel men terrorizing women, politicians targeting kids and teachers, fascists parading, openly plotting violence, drunk on their heroic fantasies, while bodies pile up due to a steady stream of lies. How do you forget three, or ten, or four hundred years? How do you forgive one, a thousand, a million gone? There's no real redress for lifetimes of atrocity, just the ache of knowing how different it all could have been. And so we watch the world burn, knowing that it was never ours to begin with. So, If they want this rotting husk of a nation, they can have it.
One of many releases I missed last year, and boy is this hitting hard now that I found it. Very similar to Morrow, which I love, but much quicker in getting the point across without losing any of the impact. Really great stuff. Dementicus
Aussie trio Burger Chef dish out a hearty helping of noise rock with a side of d-beat: messy, raw, and oh-so satisfying. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 20, 2022
I heard this a decade or so ago and just had my mind blown by the combination of crust punk and a fucking cello. What's more to say? Well its raw, cathartic, and a great story to boot. Stella Rotko