The time is now. The time is then. The band is the Puffy Areolas and they are a post punk weapon of mass destruction. No more and no less. They are the cataclysm personified.
Penetrate the murk and you get a melee of influences, tripped out guitars, near religious incantations – it would be too much of a stretch to call these words lyrics - and a do it yourself or be damned attitude. “Not Tonight” rattles the basement walls and your head even if you have no idea what the hell it is about. Follow that with the nihilistic mantra of “Take My Place” and it is like the sixties died and got reborn as a spaced out vampire.
You’ve probably figured out by now that this album is not a work of subtlety. There is a ferocity here that transcends anything that a posturing metal band could manage and that is mixed with a twisted sense of musical adventure that marks this band out as more than mere chancers. Everything sounds thrown together but it isn’t. You can’t just make music this ferocious by accident. Undoubtedly, the Puffy Areolas shot the dog and liked how it felt so much they wrote a song about it.
“Funk Your Head Up” is about as “bad ass” – I love a good Americanism, don’t you? – as it gets. I mean, there is nothing below relentless on this album yet this song would cause a tank to self destruct rather than take the hit. It’s depleted uranium and Iggy Pop all at once.
Enough words. It’s time to go find Jesus. Maybe he can save me from this madness.
Gold vinyl? Yes. Sound quality? You won’t care. Play it loud? You have to ask? Buy it? Yes.