Human Fluid Rot is one of the most visceral and honest performers I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing. In a genre where most acts are preoccupied with trying to “out-crazy” or “out-gross” each other, HFR keeps it very simple and to the point; no posturing, no costumes (except his trademark bandana mask that he wears on occasion) and no bullshit. For him, noise is obviously about a genuine release of emotion, and little else. While most noiseheads just plug in and go, HFR is compulsively arranging and re-arranging his gear, right up to the last possible minute. Nearly every set begins with a sincere list of thanks to all in attendance. After that, all bets are off and he comes out swinging- a raw conduit through which any and all feelings are free to flow. I’ve seen him laughing and grinning like a teenager who just got some stink on his dick for the first time. I’ve seen him on the verge of tears, pacing nervously around the stage. I’ve seen him destroy his equipment. I’ve seen him destroy himself. I’ve seen him covered in blood. The point is, no matter what happens at a Human Fluid Rot show, one thing is certain- he’s going to expose his very guts for all to see, and he’s gonna be fucking loud doing it.
Originally formed almost ten years ago, MUNG GOD started as an exercise in playing THE slowest-tempo doom metal possible. After playing only two shows and releasing two recordings-
the 10-minute drone & bass odyssey "They Live" and the shorter, more focused "Beautiful Machines of Doom"- MUNG GOD was laid to rest in the pursuit of other interests.
Now, after years of stagnant, uneasy slumber, MUNG GOD returns from the swampy depths with a new lineup and their first studio recording in six years, "Way Of Life", released on their self-produced net-label Florida Noise Ordinance Records.
The near future will see a wealth of output from MG, such as "Way Of Life" released on several different formats (including cassette and 3" mini-cd), a complete re-recording of 2006's "Beautiful Machines of Doom", a split with California's CROWHURST, as well as an EP of all-new material.
Something sinister has awoken in the hottest parts of Florida; something immense and irrevokable, and there will be no escape- no survival. Listen for it on the wind, and when it comes, don't attempt to comprehend- simply kneel before it and brace yourself. ENTER THE MUNG GOD!
The first time I listened to "Tactical Precision Violence" I did something I hadn't done since I was 13- I dug out my old crusty walkman, kicked back with the lyrics sheet, and cranked on a tape with the volume ALL THE WAY UP. At first I didn't even realize there was no guitarist. The truth is, they don't need one. The way Sordo plays is so furious and explosive, there's no time to argue over details... you just press play and hold onto your ass. The bass more-than-effectively grinds out the riffs while they're playing and shrieks feedback when they're not. It's almost impossible to keep up while reading the lyrics. The songs are blasted out with all the urgency of a man on fire, while still finding room for a well-placed groove- "Skull Stomp" having by far the raunchiest. The anti-Klan anthem "Low Life Piece of Shit" is another favorite, and the chorus of "No Marco" got a genuine belly laugh out of me. While listening to the album, "Dancing With The Stars" was on TV. This tape was the perfect thing to drown out all of the fake, overpaid celebrity jackasses prancing around to Top 40 trash; a really fun, simple, loud batch of brutally honest songs put out on a recycled cassette by a bunch of broke kids. Not because DIY releases are "chic" or because xeroxed album art looks so fucking cool, but because they really want you to hear their music and are willing to get it into your hands by any means necessary- budget or no budget. So give them 13 lousy minutes of your life (and maybe a buck or two)... they made a fan out of me, they might make one out of you as well. PLAY FAST OR DIE! HAIL SORDO!
--Walt Liquor
Florida Noise Ordinance
"Lost Appeal's track "Betrayal" comes on unassumingly enough with some lightly feedbacking distortion overtop what sounds like the morning traffic update. It doesn't take long though for the tubes to warm up, or for LA to finish his toast or whatever it is that's preoccupying this track, because he finds the button he's looking for and mashes it hard. What follows is an eight minute-long, full-on, red-lined wall of bulldozing fuzzmageddon. The kind of thick, bassy, smoldering drone that just scrubs your frontal lobe raw like a scouring pad. You really don't have much choice but to brace yourself, squint, and wait for it to be over. It's a simple formula that could get boring if things weren't dialed in just right, but this track is right in the pocket. The first Orange Annihilator track "Crust Flower" is unnerving as hell due to this repetitive sort of vocal screech/howl, sounding more like a man screaming for help than anything else. (Probably getting drowned in the ocean of phasery bathtub crank that Moore is cooking up in the background.) It's a fun track with little whiffs of say, Throbbing Gristle's old rubber panty hamper... it's "pleasantly uncomfortable." Next up is "Waffle Rave", which lays in the lo-fi, bare cable abuse right away. Less psychedelic and a lot more unnerving than the last track, this is George Moore doing what he does best: shitting on you. Not in his cute little way, either. I mean absolutely just grinding your face into it. You can almost hear it in the track: he's leaned back, smoking one, gnawing on a pizza crust, touching a guitar cable to his ass just LAUGHING at us, the listener, because he KNOWS we're still sitting here. Listening. To him. Shitting on us. OA sews up the split with "Pink Fluff", an ominous, almost painful blast of drones that probably sounds a lot like getting slapped in the skull with a delay pedal and then sticking your head in a jet engine prior to takeoff. All in all, this is a solid release and a good showing from both acts. Now, can you guys please move all these amps and pedals and shit out of my fucking living room?" -->Walt Liquor Florida Noise Ordinance
"Crowhurst’s latest album doesn’t start off with some grandiose introduction. There’s no 30 seconds of suspenseful silence that gives way to the tinkling of cymbals or the throb of a subtle bass line fading in. From the moment this album starts, you know you’re in deep shit. The Death Van isn’t approaching, you’re already in it-- pants around your ankles, gasping for breath with Crowhurst’s fingers in your throat. This initial anxiety attack lasts around fifteen minutes, and the rest of the album doesn’t get any more comfortable or inviting from there. They’re back, and they didn’t come to pleasure you. Get ready to squirm."
-->Walt Liquor
Florida Noise Ordinance
