Britney – Britn3y

britney-britn3yBand: Britney
Album: Britn3y
Label: Superstar Destroyer Records
Release date: 11 March
Sounds like: It’s Britney Bitch. Toxic bass terror.

Not ones for conforming to naming stereotype, Edinburgh’s Britney are far removed from the pop princess; bursting through the other side of that musical spectrum like the alien chewing its way through John Hurt’s chest during a Chinese.

The arrangement of sounds (and that’s what I’m calling them) on Britn3y, that stretch over the brief and brutal 22 minute running time are truly maddening, destructive and horrifically chaotic. This is a joke that you haven’t been clued up on – a party you were never invited to, but told about, at length, by everyone else who attended and possibly resembled the warped heart of darkness, “the dirt” of what happened in Super Hans’ flat at the end of Peep Show season 7. I mean, you don’t exactly KNOW, but they were there and it was fucking horrible.

The zombie-like moans and gargled groans kick off opening track Fully Ben, before blossoming into the tricky, clanking caterwaul of stocky, abrasive drum-rolls, warped vocal cries, bleats and a clunking bass thump that’s not so much played, as attacked with possibly another bass, smashed repeatedly into it. There’s no real decipherable lyrics, (save for: “UUURRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!”) as this cacophony keeps slamming into you, ending in a series of guttural death-screams and turbulent, babbled shrieks. Exhausted yet? You will be. Sneezefic, sounds like The Locust fighting Lightning Bolt, as stamping rhythmic blasts of energy are force fed into your ears, through more incomprehensible roars and animalistic whines. Witch Bucket sounds like it could have been a Melvins song title; however, the execution is a lot more feral (but equally weird); the rolling rhythmic destruction falls somewhere between ear-bleeding noise-metal, with a groove attempting to punch its way out of a locked container that’s been set on fire.

Neon Python attempts to assemble some form of tune, as square pegs are repeatedly bludgeoned into round holes. The rhythm resembles The Blood Brothers for pure spasmodic shambolic energy, flailing limbs, chunky, stabbing guitar lines that vomit technicolour riffs in short-sharp bursts of stuttering energy. The vocals are a convoluted belch and roar of overlapping scrambled frustration and gibberish, wall-climbing insanity. H-142 follows a similar pattern, starting off more blustering noise-rock energy, but quickly builds to this collapsing hell dimension of repetitive, bludgeoning hysteria. That’s nothing when you consider Sleep Now Dogman, which is Prick by the Melvins condensed into 2 minutes. Reversed riffs, looped, weird pitch-shifted noises, screams, static, the sound of someone vomiting heavily (yes really), is all committed to tape for prosperity and supposedly to fuck the listener right off. The next two tracks, Manopoz and Sonseed, have a total running time that clocks in at 41 seconds; the first, being 10 seconds of throat-clearing, Napalm Death grind-belching and the 31 seconds that follow it are a furious jazz-fury-punk breakdown.

The first half of Gum is quite excellent, sounding like Daughters (circa Canada Songs) – high-levels of speed reached, slam-dance guitar patterns, it really feels like the most intense and listenable track on offer, but cuts off with a hacking cough, followed by some meandering noise and elongated feedback that melds into the scathing bite of I.I.A.H.S.W.E.S. which carries on much of the Rhode-Island sound through complex math-punk shenanigans and some satisfying grooves. Closing track, 3DPD is possibly longer than all the previous tracks put together. It’s no less raw – frankly, I’m surprised there isn’t an option that sprays viscera and blood out of the screen at me whilst listening to this. The last few minutes hit black-metal chant-territory, under the doom-laden bass and drum thunder that continues to crackle and burn, ending in a minute of ear-piercing feedback that just about outstays its welcome.

Pure filth stretched over 22 minutes of confusion, executed perfectly with the right amount of raw, noxious turbulence.

You can stream Britn3y for free or download for a mere £4!


Superstar Destroyer Records

Lizard Hips

Junior Vice President of Keep It Fast. In other news: I work in social media, talk about dinosaurs, run a book club and have amazing facial hair. I am also a male man who is still not dead.

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