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Review Summary: Genesis P-Orridge’s sibilant tones offer plaintive, breathy non sequiturs over unctuous, grimy nodes of electronic discord. The very notion that any mode of genuinely extreme music could percolate without the celebratory pandemonium generated by the gleefully seditious, and magnificently sordid, Throbbing Gristle is not only implausible; it’s nigh-on impossible. Excluding the creepy Dadaism of The Residents, the ‘70s produced nothing to rival the quixotic and profoundly nightmarish clamour of TG’s atonal debut; with their impenetrable, libidinous ejaculations of corrosive ennui and diabolic kraftwerkian rancour, they inculcated a seething, industrial affront to popular culture; baiting audiences with icy, mechanoid barbarianism that remains as perversely enigmatic today as when originally conceived. Part two the endless not ululates downer, intestinal gurglings, leaking tainted folds of vocal dementia; a murky morass of exhilarating obfuscation, gradually sublimating the listener’s id beneath a clotted, calamitous shroud of despondency. For over two decades they have excelled at ruthlessly conjoining disparate genre’s; brutally dislocating conventional musical motifs, and lovingly reassembling their derisive parody of pop music. That so much of Throbbing Gristle’s inspirational absurdity still retains the power to unnerve, is arguably due to their singular genius of unearthing malefic oscillations, mimicking the covert, quivering squelch of oozing human viscera. Part two the endless not is both eerie and euphoric, transparent and infuriatingly cryptic, diseased and vigorous; this is painfully corporeal music, using not so much scales as living cells of sound which they corrupt and metastasize into shrieking gobs of passion; similar to the bravura way both David Lynch and Werner Herzog deify dysfunction, TG also author mesmeric parables around the extraordinary and defiantly prosaic nature of mankind. Much of part two the endless not plays out like a potent laudanum reverie, engorged with febrile convulsions of naked desire; where Genesis P-Orridge’s sibilant tones offer plaintive, breathy non sequiturs over unctuous, grimy nodes of electronic discord. Incredibly, their beauteous ‘Rabbit Snare’ with its hazy, opiated, jazz inflections and Neo-Noir allusions is merely one incandescent composition within this fleshy kaleidoscope of galvanizing auditory splendour.
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While this review is a testament to your intellectual abilities, the excessive large words are not necessarily beneficial.
For a layman to be able to read this, they'll have to break it down piece by piece to understand it. I had to reword one of the sentences in my head:
"That so much of Throbbing Gristle’s inspirational absurdity still retains the power to unnerve, is arguably due to their singular genius of unearthing malefic oscillations, mimicking the covert, quivering squelch of oozing human viscera."
into:
"The fact that Throbbing Gristle's absurdity is still unnerving, is due to their genius depiction of evil sounds that mimic the (secretive? hushed?) groaning of intestines."
Additionally, I would love to hear examples to back your opinions, such as what makes their barbarianism "icy" and "mechanoid."
It's obvious you have the ability to express yourself well. Might just want to work on making it a bit more accessible to everyone.
Take or leave my comments, I am by no means an expert. Just wanted to kind of share how some viewers might interpret this.
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https://www.sputnikmusic.com/forums/image.php?u=1061760&dateline=1571446276
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this is bad first year sociology thesis writing.
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mommy what's a percolate? is it the same as copulate?
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The very notion that any mode of genuinely extreme music could percolate without the celebratory pandemonium generated by the gleefully seditious, and magnificently sordid, Throbbing Gristle is not only implausible; it’s nigh-on impossible. Excluding the creepy Dadaism of The Residents, the ‘70s produced nothing to rival the quixotic and profoundly nightmarish clamour of TG’s atonal debut; with their impenetrable, libidinous ejaculations of corrosive ennui and diabolic kraftwerkian rancour, they inculcated a seething, industrial affront to popular culture; baiting audiences with icy, mechanoid barbarianism that remains as perversely enigmatic today as when originally conceived. Part two the endless not ululates downer, intestinal gurglings, leaking tainted folds of vocal dementia; a murky morass of exhilarating obfuscation, gradually sublimating the listener’s id beneath a clotted, calamitous shroud of despondency. For over two decades they have excelled at ruthlessly conjoining disparate genre’s; brutally dislocating conventional musical motifs, and lovingly reassembling their derisive parody of pop music. That so much of Throbbing Gristle’s inspirational absurdity still retains the power to unnerve, is arguably due to their singular genius of unearthing malefic oscillations, mimicking the covert, quivering squelch of oozing human viscera. Part two the endless not is both eerie and euphoric, transparent and infuriatingly cryptic, diseased and vigorous; this is painfully corporeal music, using not so much scales as living cells of sound which they corrupt and metastasize into shrieking gobs of passion; similar to the bravura way both David Lynch and Werner Herzog deify dysfunction, TG also author mesmeric parables around the extraordinary and defiantly prosaic nature of mankind. Much of part two the endless not plays out like a potent laudanum reverie, engorged with febrile convulsions of naked desire; where Genesis P-Orridge’s sibilant tones offer plaintive, breathy non sequiturs over unctuous, grimy nodes of electronic discord. Incredibly, their beauteous ‘Rabbit Snare’ with its hazy, opiated, jazz inflections and neo-noir allusions is merely one incandescent composition within this fleshy kaleidoscope of galvanizing auditory splendour.
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Staff writer in the making.
| | | Album Rating: 4.0 | Sound Off
Review is a thesaurus vomit, but the album is essential.
| | | Album Rating: 4.0
It's actually coherent and descriptive though, thesaurus wank notwithstanding
| | | Album Rating: 3.5
What is album?
| | | Album Rating: 4.0 | Sound Off
It is a bum for all
An all-bum
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