Just when you thought that the depths of sludge-metal/trash punk in L.A. had all been plumbed, along comes Flying Hair with their sophomore slab of ooze. The band counts founding Zig Zags member Bobby Martin among the ranks and he’s carved out a true totem of reverberating slime along with the rest of this quartet from the bottom-feeder acid mines of Los Angeles’ pre-dawn C.H.U.D. army. The band is hitting on some similar notes to Timmy’s Organism, Fuzz and Jay Reatard, but slicing though those touchstones with a note of dread and doom that feels like they’ve been spending too much time huffing the glue off of dumpstered copies of Afflicted Man and Blue Cheer.
There’s a speed freak, wide-eyed quality to the record that feels like the whole thing is flying on three days, no sleep and by turns Night Fight stares through listeners with a red-eyed menace. I’ve got a soft spot for the kind of prog-punk that feels like it prays at the b-movie altar, dredging up sonic monsters straight of the Troma Films library. This thing is predatorial, haggard, and ready to blow. It’s so thick with smoke it’s almost easy to miss the licks, but that’s half the fun. Too band the wax was pressed in a teasingly small quantity, but no matter what medium you’re using to spread the bile from this feeder, its bound to gum up the works in the best way.
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