Peloton: Unnatural Affection for Hornets – Album Review
Peloton – Unnatural Affection for Hornets (Cult Culture)
Cassette/ Poster with DL
Out 16th April 2013
Peloton release their first album in April. They say the only way to describe their sound is an “audio equivalent of Dario Argento’s gorgeously artistic kill scenes”. Louder Than War’s Adrian Bloxham likes what he hears.
This music has stumbled down a back alley, banged its head quite badly as it fell into the street shouting abuse at strangers. It’s wearing dirty jeans and a ragged tee shirt and probably last shaved last Tuesday. This music is built on a base of dirty, nasty fuzzed out bass, solid drums and huge guitar noise. It’s bloody great.
Peloton come out of Houston in Texas, they are the musical equivalent of poking a wasp’s nest with a stick, it might be all calm and serene right now but in a minute you had better start running…..The album title is very apt and made me smile.
The vocals go from raw throated blood speckled screaming to a deep, dark and aloof drawl that is really quite moving. The songs are more often than not extended jams that pick up on an idea and blast the hell out of it. Lyrics are stream of consciousness and unfocused as far as I can make out, like the extended droll monologue about the world’s strongest magnet in ‘Static Eyes on the Phone’. More often than not the voice is swallowed up into the monstrous filthy rock’n’roll that the band produce as if it’s nothing. There is a swinging groove swallowed up somewhere inside the aforementioned ‘Static Eyes on the Phone’. Total distortion and a rock slide of sound on ‘Black Metal Shirt’ and a sludgy nasty bastard of a song in ‘Affection for Hornets’.
‘There aren’t any drugs anymore.’ The last two songs open up to the spirit of the blues, albeit a whiskey soaked set something on fire strained and sad kind of blues. ‘Rebottled’ goes beyond that and crashes into hardcore thrash seething with hatred and violence. It finishes with ‘Clutch City’ which distorts the blues into a massive show of desperate power and a fist to the back of the head sound.
Which is where it goes, noise and power, fuzzed out, distorted and nasty. One for a glass of cheap whiskey and a night out on the bad side of town.
All words by Adrian Bloxham. More work by Adrian on Louder Than War can be found here.