A fucking elephant. Savour that name. Let it roll around on your tongue a little. It’s pretty fucked up right there – not the sort of name you’d announce in polite company – more the sort of thing you’d put on a T shirt to keep the uninitiated at a distance. It carries a hint of threat and a whole heap of humour – something which carries neatly over into the bizarre-o titles and acid-addled artwork that sits resplendent upon a digi-pack that lies hidden inside a neatly die-cut slip case. This isn’t our first experience of A Fucking Elephant – that came in 2013 with the ‘7 inches of…’ single (it rules, if you don’t own it, you’re either terminally unlucky or criminally stupid) – but even so, ‘Dope Soaked & Wow’ (the first half of a special, split release which predates the single by a couple of years and has arrived on our desk by some magical twist of fortune) is a glorious cornucopia of sonic surprises so resplendent in its knowledge of the oblique American underground, that it will have you sitting bolt upright, teeth slowly grinding into a paste as the adrenalin flows through you.
So, yeah, the record kicks off with the flanged acrobatics of ‘blue crab fantastic’, a pummelling, face-melting tour-de-force that is so utterly in-the-moment that the band don’t even bother with vocals. Like Sonic Youth in their early, Swans-worshipping days crossbred with the dynamic twists of Fugazi, ‘blue crab fantastic’ is a glorious mess that threatens to unravel before your very eyes, only to suddenly career blindly into the jazz-infused hellfire of ‘football with Ukrainians’. With Greg attempting to out-drum the demonic tag team of Lenny White and Jack DeJohnette, and punk rock vocals providing the only anchor in Matt’s ever-evolving riffs, ‘Football with Ukranians’ threatens to induce nausea but, you know, in a good way. Anyhow, I’m hooked, if a little glassy-eyed, and it’s just as well because the band are, at this point, attempting to prise the top of my head open (sort of like that scene in Hannibal, only more interesting) with ‘Furious E’, a track that could easily sit on Fugazi’s awe-inspiring ‘end hits’ with its nimble guitar figures and unhinged bursts of heavily-distorted noise. I want to see it live. Hell, I want the band to set up in my living room, so I can get them to autograph the shattered furniture at the end – it’s just that sort of music. Anyway, it’s just as well they can’t invade my property because the chaotic noise-worship of ‘Just the tip’ is so brutal, even on record, that it threatens to overwhelm. Finally, ‘Holla! No babies’ calms the pace a touch, although the guitars remain hypnotically cyclical, swirling around the listener as Greg underpins them with a percussive display that suggests he is possessed of an additional set of arms. Of course, whilst the calm is a mere blind and the track builds a formidable head of steam, slowly sucking away any sense of resistance you may have with a series of increasingly agitated riffs.
An album filled with white hot experimental noise delivered in a frenzy by a duo who resist sleep for weeks by overdosing on stimulants and hallucinogens, ‘dope soaked & wow’ is best played loud whilst slamming yourself repeatedly against the walls and gulping down suspicious-looking mushrooms. Brutal beautiful noise, A Fucking Elephant make me happy. 9
Onto the second half (entitled ‘silver medals for everyone’) and we meet El Drugstore for the first time. A three-piece featuring R. Alvarado, K. Conway & S. Rheam, El Drugstore deal in blissfully unhinged, jazz-infused noise rock, making them the ideal foil for A Fucking Elephant.
Kicking off with the disconcerting notion that ‘Those arm rests are fire’, El Drugstore prove that they’re just as adept at crafting titles that see the listener twisting their synapses in an attempt to glean understanding as A Fucking Elephant. Musically, the band unleash some gloriously discordant riffing with malevolent glee. El Drugstore even get their metal on with some meaty, chugging riffs that slam home with real force. It’s a gruelling piece, awash with sludge and detritus, and it delivers almost seismic shifts as it progresses towards its tumultuous end. In contrast, ‘Schnurrbart’ is almost whimsical in its approach – a sort of neo-classical / jazz / punk rock fusion that leaves you with your jaw shattered upon the floor. This isn’t music, it’s art and, although it may not be pretty, it’s sure as hell, edge-of-the-seat exciting. Heading ever further into the realms of the unknown, ‘shit-eating dog kisses’ basically sounds like the end of Nirvana’s Endless nameless (making you seriously question the sanity of its creators) before concluding with ‘Slamcart’, a menacing jazz odyssey that juxtaposes the most intricate jazz passages against savage bursts of noise. Lengthy and not unlike Skullflower, if Skullflower occasionally experimented with melody, it is the perfect conclusion to a frantically off-kilter album.
At the outset I knew that A Fucking Elephant ruled, so the real surprise here is just how damn good El Drugstore are. Musically dextrous, sonically innovative, they deliver four tracks of frazzled bliss and easily stand shoulder-to-shoulder with A Fucking Elephant. 9
Most people will probably find themselves utterly perplexed (potentially even revolted) by this densely-packed EP. Its creators are probably happy about this arrangement. This isn’t music for the weak, the faint of heart or the strictly sane. It’s art delivered by wild-eyed innovators who have, as much as anything else, proved that 9 and 9 make 10. Yep, we’re a few years late… but better late than never… now go buy the thing already (you can do so, here: http://nefariousindustries.com/releases/nef-01/ )
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