JOYBRINGER
If it were at all legal and within our powers, we would strap just about every other band reviewed here this month to a chair and force them to listen to this demo on repeat play until they signed a legally-binding promise to go away and write more interesting music. Joybringer might sound like they were named after particularly sturdy brand of sex toy, but musically they sum up everything we hope bands would strive for, instead of the depressing desperation to sound exactly like EVERYBODY ELSE. `Gastropod' here must be the only song ever written about slug sex and is a maddening, clamouring fusion of Butthole Surfers and The Birthday Party, grinding furiously along while someone reads fairytales underneath the song's flight path. And of course the only way to follow that is with an ode to vacuum cleaner fetishism, `Hoover', a jerky New Wave bastardisation of rockabilly. That former Beaker drummer Clare is involved probably accounts for some of the madhouse freakiness of the female backing vocals, while frontman Josh veers between Primal Nick Cave squawk and Al Jorgensen growl. `Welcome To The House' is rather saner until you listen closely to the sinister narrative that drags Big Brother into the world of snuff movies. Finally, `Red Rocket' is Ministry taken on a bubblegum pop ride by The Rezillos. These people are either crazed hippies or demented geniuses. Possibly both, and they owe it to us all to get out there and stamp on all the dull, witless grunge bands in town.