PUBLIC PHONE SCHOOL - Self-Titled скачать в хорошем качестве

PUBLIC PHONE SCHOOL - Self-Titled

Hi, hello, howdy. Got questions? That's great, I don't have answers. I just have new music to share with you and I really think you're going to like it. If the vagueness of that opening isn't enough to satisfy your lust for encyclopedic knowledge on bands that'll give your mother a hernia from listening, let's just pretend... I don't know, that I stole this from the Disney Vault. Yes. These recordings have been collecting dust for some time now, in the Disney Vault, that's it. Platinum edition: the PREMIUM shit. Walt's gonna have my head for getting ahold of this thing -- but joke's on him, I took his head too. The Disney cryogenics rumors were true, folks. See, isn't it incredible the kind of bullshit you can get away with spewing on the internet? I could tell you anything about this band and it'd mean fuck-all! The part about these recordings collecting dust were true, though. For reasons beyond my understanding, Public Phone School has chosen to gestate like a progenitive mold for several years now -- it's only now that these microbes are ready to germinate across the staleness of this punk landscape. I must've listened to this album at least a hundred times at this point (literally, zero exaggeration) and now that I've been given the opportunity to write about these songs, after months and months of preparation, I'm only just now beginning to realize that the potency of the songwriting at play here is something that could scarcely be expressed in words. What's there to say beyond the obvious? It's fucking furious. Pure audio hyper-violence, no holds barred, a steel pipe directly to the teeth. Electronic perversions of our collective understanding of hardcore, a frantic deconstruction of melody and rhythm and harmony. Utterly. Psychotic. With a depraved cacophony of synthoid-keystrokes blaring from the sidelines with a staccato, convulsive strutter, and a rapid-fire machine gun keenly positioning itself as the core percussive element, only a soundscape of such raw chaotic disarray could balance with the animalistic fury of the vocals howling in the forefront, flexing every throat muscle available for the performance of a fucking lifetime. No, seriously -- I wouldn't be surprised if the vocalist coughed up blood after blowing through these tracks. And maybe a few loose scraps of throat-meat. Unreal. These sentiments don't even begin to touch on the overly sincere charm of the album. Beyond the layers of discordant buzzsaw synth tones lies an unadulterated talent for songcrafting separate from the noise, from the unchecked savagery. Projected through the lens of 90's Nickelodeon nostalgia (yes, really), this two-piece band has channeled with a unique snark that's undeniably infectious. What you're hearing in this album are the percussive death rattles of a hardcore youth -- the violent, unrestrained throes of an adolescence bleeding into the waterish years of modern adult living. Work, bills, socializing, sobriety, an incessant apathy. It fucking sucks to have your shit together and this album uses every avenue available to express that. So if you're hoping to catch this band at your local basement venue during some grand cross-country U.S. tour, I wouldn't hold your breath. They've got cats to feed and plants to water back at home. Besides, do you have any idea how much PTO they'd have to burn through to make something like that happen? You'd be crazy to go through with something like that. And in this economy? Oof, marone. Forget it. If you're wanting a piece of this premature-mid-life-crisis-in-action, pick up a copy of the CD at the link below before they become another curiosity for you to ogle at on Discogs. All the drawings on this album were done by me. The CDs have a huge two-sided three-panel design that I put a lot of work into -- and in ADDITION to that, there's a poster in there that I also drew. You're getting your fucking money's worth with this one. So go ahead, let these sounds feed into that little voice in the back of your head: the same voice that tells you to ream your car through the big conga line of commuting dickheads on your morning drive to work. Anything to break the monotony, right? TRACK LIST: BFD in BFE - 0:00 Journey to the Center of Attention - 1:01 Walker Texas Instruments - 2:33 Go Go Gadget Prozac - 3:30 Docs in a Row - 4:53 The Write to Bear Claws - 6:16 Slowly, But Don't Call Me Shirley - 7:33 Disney Adult Contemporary - 8:26 555-FILK - 9:40 Minimum Rage - 10:19 SUPPORT: https://publicphoneschool.bandcamp.com/ https://www.mutualskies.com/