from the 12” EP, Iron Curtain Records, 1984We just went through a minor spring blizzard, the kind that is so friggin’ wet it creates those mutated, monster snowflakes which are the size of potato chips; heavy as fuck, just the kind of stuff you need to make a snowman or punishing (bruising) snowballs. I can’t help but be affected by the grey and damp tones outside, rather positively, seeing as how this sort of weather is the exception around these parts, it’s very agreeable. I’ve been very blessed to get my hands on some excellent tunes lately which personify the current climate in a fantastically suitable manner, and this track happens to be the one I just can’t get out of my head. A driving, tribal drumbeat pulsates with such mechanical accuracy it almost doesn’t feel human, providing the song with a backbone as thick as an elephant’s neck; the guitars are so heavily processed it almost sounds like a refinery, smashing steel, screeching wheels on aluminum tile. A polysynth plays what sounds like a duet of melancholy violas or cellos, pushed to the back of the mix as atmosphere more than anything. It completely blew my mind when I learned that these guys were based out of Santa Barbara, California---not exactly the sound that immediately comes to mind when I think of the coast, but the more I listen to it, I can feel the vibrations of the 101, gazing out across the Pacific through the car window, waves crashing against the shore. Original copies of this 12” EP sell for over $1000, which seems awfully ridiculous right about now, but all hype aside, this one track makes the whole EP for me; the other tracks are good too, cold and danceable darkwave all around, but this number feels like gloomy salve for my soul. Looking out over mounds of intimidating and abhorrent sludge, the long intro is just fine, taking my mind adrift, far away, detached and distant. The lyrics are too murky for me to make out clearly, and my searches on the infernet came to no avail, so we’re left with just a few clear lines, “…hey filthy spider…screaming in his veins…you’ll be sorry when he’s through…and now you’d better run…I heard a tarantula scream, I heard a tarantula scream…” The monotone vocal delivery adds properly to the darkness, and matched with the simplistic & repetitive music, it generates a near-disinterested vibe that suits this kind of composition impeccably!
