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Richard Koumbos
Sep 6, 2013, 6:28:30 PM9/6/13
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Towards the end, Fox and Feinstein take up the electronic drums, and Fox starts
singing from a ragged sheet of lyrics, the music hitting such a pitch that my
nostril-hairs start to vibrate in sympathy. This is a novel and not altogether
welcome experience, unknown to me in younger years. A few people try to dance,
but the music defeats them. The music might be described as
industrial-hardcore, percussion-driven whatever, ballasted with thick slabs of
portentious droning.
Richard Koumbos
singing from a ragged sheet of lyrics, the music hitting such a pitch that my
nostril-hairs start to vibrate in sympathy. This is a novel and not altogether
welcome experience, unknown to me in younger years. A few people try to dance,
but the music defeats them. The music might be described as
industrial-hardcore, percussion-driven whatever, ballasted with thick slabs of
portentious droning.
Richard Koumbos
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