Comfort answers to no fashion Queen, and raunchy, sex-minded, worked-tongue-wiping, paid-lap-dance-dirty, baby-makin’ pelvic beats answer to no, conventional, receptive ear. Thunderheist, the Toronto based, globally minded, five-year international outbreak, very much like the cheese, stands alone. None match their sex = sex + more sex-resolved, blood-churning, infectious rhythms, and none do it so devilishly glamorous.
Words… that these are, do absolutely no justice to the concrete weight that, Grahmzilla and Isis effortlessly exhale with every gasping, rhythmic beat present in every one of these five, remixed (save for one) tempting trax.
If it ain’t dirty, it ain’t Thunderheist.
Editor’s note: For this, my 450th post, I’d like to thank global warming, overly-sensitive neighbors, and hangover victims, but seriously, I’ll thank the unspoken will that fuels so many able, and socially alienated victims… affordable whisky. Dust it off, dear frequenters of PG nonsense… dust it off and jerk it.
Contained below is lost debris found amongst the sea of filth that is my PG work folder. I have no idea as to its context, nor what groovy slab inspired such nonsensical ramblings, but when you’re in a hurry, anything seems plausible. (If you need a music suggestion for today, check out Rocket from the Crypt’s Hot Charity, or Tool’s Ænima. I’ve been stuck under an angry cloud as of late, and it seems my trusty umbrella has abandoned my side.)
There is something to be said about someone who can go from Beethoven’s 8th Symphony, to Thunderheist’s Jerk It 12”, to Harry Nilsson’s Pandemonium Shadow Show, to Rudimentary Peni’s Cacophony without the shimmering blink of an eye. What that something is, may be lost on the likes of me, but sometimes the logic breaks down in an extremely logical way. Get what I’m throwing down? No? Neither do I. If that’s the case, then you and I should be friends, or at least pen pals (suggested by someone who has never owned a pen).
Dig what you dig, and don’t listen to anyone who thinks they know what they’re talking about because, realistically, nobody really does. Take me for example. I enjoy annoying my neighbors, so much so that I create “neighbor annoy” playlists for my mid-day weekend adventures. Are they annoyed as I feel they SHOULD be, probably not. But does it make me happy none-the-less? You bet your ass!