Repost of a Hijo Soddymizing from the Reviews thread. Neither a search for "Hijokaidan" nor one for "Borbetomagus" returned this posting so I must be doing something wrong. To exacerbate things, general ignorance means I couldn't link directly to the post either. If someone could sort that this repost could be trimmed...
I've in any event taken the liberty of snipping off the retarded opening lines:
Borbetomagus & Hijokaidan Both Noises End Burning
Somehow, when the names Mikawa and Borbetomagus come together, I tend to think of Borbeto's seminal "Live In Tokyo". Least representative of the Borbeto back catalog, it is (or was) also the heaviest slab of auricular suffocation on offer under that conglomeration. Less harsh in terms of earhole scorchification per dB, and less of that patented piercing snuffsax-squeal, but so dense and multitextured in its slowly billowing elaborations.
Both Noises score their delights under the influence of similar perv-visions. Not overtly brutal by the enregalled standards enshrined in the respective Hijo-Borbeto canons, but almost gentle, pliable, yielding an inverted harsh curve that saturates via remarkably wide-ranging folds of blushing color, wet-lipped warmth, and slithering, spermatozoan, starspace. Individual elements crowd the periphery, leaving a giant gaping howl that just sucks the enraptured worshipper straight into the hole-liest of char-blackened gasp and shiver, bathing the proceedings with other-wordly, bung-tingling, saxdrone-slather. A dizzying, near phantasmagorical miasma of constantly evolving, errupting, fading, flowing; of deformation and deviation, of shade and shadow, of puke and splooge, skullfuck and sphinct-suct. Words beyond the aforementioned Hallowed Fornication scarcely seem to be worth the bother of writing let alone reading.
But if I had to break it down in terms for the layperv, I'd say that the overall sound palate is not unlike late eighties early nineties Hijokaidan live recordings at Antiknock, the continuous, severely pitched, shriek-screech backdrop enlivened by periodic flashes of brilliance wherein the already blistering intensity seems to shred itself a new one. I'd say the overall progression is not unlike live Incapacitants, burgeoning layers somehow finding ever more ferocious plateaus and finally brimming in the closing quarter with utterly jaw-dropping, show-stopping, shit-eat-grinning overmass of auricular overbilge. And I'd say the deft sense of wide-open space and bottomless texture giving birth to something palpable yet unworldly, all amid the cacaphonous shitstorm of the seasoned blowhard, well, that's pure Borbetomagus.
ANALysis:
Primal screechery diffuses across a broadened, mult-tiered, swathe, ceding Harshness to near ambiance, nicely separated, crystalline, textural elements pushing Rawness gradations down through smooth, grit-filtered flavorings that one mainly tastes in passing. Craftsmanship might be scored high on the basis of sustained interest, micromovements as readily entered as expunged, attempts to sanitize macrofornicated by the sheer beastly size of this mother. Savaged sensibilities then entertain a Spasticity most subtle: few surprises proper await, yes, yet yeti-like footsies stomp all over yer dong-pronged nethermosts, the insistent incoherencies anti-heretical as ill-articulated verbiage discharges diarhettic, starbursts flashing wet and wild through roasted channel pan. Sheer numbers - Mikawa Jojo Junko Shibata Sauter Dietrich Miller - would doubtless dictate the Densities desired, at least on paper, but mixmaster-san's zeal to represent each component particle serves mainly to confuse or displace rather than inundate. No complaints, just sayin'. But just try following bansheed Junko shriek through Jojo'd jet engine wheeze through Miller-tinged sputterfuzz sewage funnels through alternately droning and squawking drainland sax-or-not overtones, all seemingly under control of The Mikawa. Fuck it, I'm through with this shit. Anybody helps me now! Harmonicaness wins the day.
