Album: The Unutterable
This still sounds futuristic and it is now around 12 years old as a song. The scratchy bassline that kicks this off, combined with the Wip3out-style music that follows is like a cyber-punk future backdraft, with MES absent-mindedly yakking into the mic in somewhat clear tones for the roughness that runs amok in the background.
The lyrics seem to be a bit 1984, as in people needing a serum to get through life, the 101 could be debated as code, perhaps Room 101 (the room in which you cast things you dislike) but then he bookends this with 101.1, which makes even less sense. He seems to like lists on this album, see Dr Buck's Letter, which suggests a mild theme running throughout, he lists food elsewhere.
This must have been a fun album to make, basically a cacophony of guitars, almost a wall, with some skronky keys over it, electronics trumping and farting over it, blasts of 90s -sounding guitar riffs now and again, listening to it back on cans must have been hell to play over.
Mark sounds focused at times, distracted at others, which is the best way to hear him I think, you get this weird sage-like majesty off him now and again and garbled nothings the next, its like listening to someone who is hammered come into lucidity for brief patches before flying low under the fug again. The lyrics are humourous, but with a taciturn and judging edge, which makes it seem all the more disorienting.The lines about curvaceous women bring to mind soiled copies of The Sun or Blackpool pier peep shows and the leery, greasy men that frequent such places. The idea of deadbeat dads needing a lager to get through the day also springs to mind, all the lyrics point to dissapointment I fear.
And can I hear maracas? The most strange of all hand-held percussion next to shakey eggs?