Chicago is luckily a large enough city to engulf a multitude of polarizing bands, and one of the best and most ominous of the darker side of the spectrum is the powerhouse known as NONES. Originally forged as an exact opposite blueprint of the archetype female-fronted punk group, this band is a fully-BACKED female force of contention with one deranged and sufficiently blurred frontman slashing forth and breaking the stereotype into micro shards of glass you will never be able to completely pick out of your fine upholstery. As far away from the over-flogged “garage” tagged sound as possible, thereby wrecking the career opportunities of budding music critics, NONES are a riveting, throbbing, mutating single-celled organism growing fins as you read this, constantly evolving into the next life form, yet reliably antagonizing with each live performance. As their two 7? EPs had first signaled within their soiled grooves, this debut LP is an anthropomorphic anomaly of audio art, shedding it’s skin and eating it’s young between pummeling chord changes, it grasps at the real desperation and de-evolution around us all, churning all that bad karma into a screaming wall of damaged reality.
And even as the death’s knell tone of the saxophone emerges as the background noise subsides momentarily, it’s only mere seconds before your chest is thrust back again with a hideous wallop of incessant rhythm coerced with the most agonizing vocals from someone that’s not being quartered by a group of horses for heresy. The debut LP from NONES is no joy ride, and it’s nothing you want to relax with after a hectic day, but more of an instant agitator, a tool for stirring up your inner turmoil and a safe place to keep your paranoid thoughts where they can drift around in a contained space. It’s the best kind of death trip we’ve found in a long while, and while nothing sounds quite like them, it’s kind of like the soft lullaby accompanying a celebratory castration on a summer day, or maybe even a high-end hysterectomy on a fancy yacht. No smiley faces, hearts or flowers, just crying babies, broken dreams, fever sweat, double-vision and boiled-over belligerence, cooked down into a thick mess of vengeance and insanity. Whatever you do, this album is already laying eggs under your skin, so it’s time to take a deep breath and dive in before the peripheral blackness of your fears are truly inescapable.
Pick up the debut LP Midwestern Family Values right HERE or wherever the finest records are sold.
STREAM "Wife Meat" and "Ugly Head" right here...
