Holy Fuck

Latin

(XL)

Record Review by Marcel Feldmar

I’m not going to comment on the band name other than noticing that at this point in time, the placing of a swear word within a band name should not annoy me as much as it does. It’s been done to death, and it’s not offensive, but something about it just rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s just my delicate personality. Regardless, this is a band, Canadian, instrumental. Canadians love swearing band names.

This is not surf rock instrumental. This is not metal riffing or ambient dreamscape instrumental either. I think it might be a little closer to spaced out prog rock jam band instrumental, but it’s actually a little better than that. It’s more dynamic, twistier. At times, it’s a little hard and heavy, almost pushing into some Trans Am territory, but without all the speed and energy. There’s definitely some electro-tech wizardry in effect here, but it plays out a lot mellower. In with the groove.

It’s definitely hard to keep an instrumental album going strong for twelve songs, but this band definitely gives it a shot. Mixing up moods and tempos, switching sonic voices, at times it moves a little towards Yes, or Pink Floyd, at other times it slides across the speakers like some 8-bit Tortoise. Indie rockers playing Casio keys and rounding it all up with steady drumbeats and desert touched spaghetti western movements.

There’s some hot video game action that hits in the song “SHT MTN”, with a few bursts of vocals, but not lyrics, really, just another sound to throw into the mix. I feel like yelling out “More cowbell!” on this particular song. We’re halfway through the album at this point, and I’m still kind of trying to figure out exactly what this is that I’m listening to. Angst filled and aggressive elevator music? Space age daydreams? Video game soundtracks of the future? I just don’t know.

Some of the songs I really like. Like on the song “Stilettos”. The melody and the rhythm, driving and pushing, the breakdown into something a little smooth, the bass slowly pushing in, pushing up, the crush into speed again, the sonic waves hitting. This is the song right here. This whole album is ready for some major hipster remix project, but I think this song, as it is, is pretty untouchable. Then we’re thrown back into some B-Boy 8-bit challenge of “Lucky”, and I’m feeling a '90s Chiptune Explosion coming on, but it spreads out, it fills out, it becomes a sort of moving miasma of shifting sounds, leaving the bytes behind underneath a haze of sound. This might be what it sounds like if you get high in an arcade.

There are brief hits of bands like the Champs (or the Fucking Champs) at times, but only for brief seconds of guitar drum bursts, then it spirals out to something more in tune with The Secret Machines. Then it ends with a song that is sort of the perfect end piece for an album like this. Noise, discord, rhythm, broken beats, voice noises, steady groove, and a slow fade into the end. I don’t know if the band name can be applied to every song on this album, but after listening to the last song, I can sit back in my chair and quietly say, “Holy Fuck.”