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Polaroids Of Androids

Record Reviews


Lenin Lennon
Hell EP

Back when this little waste of webspace was defined solely by the parameters of cubicle boredom, reality television stars and a still-functioning Hopetoun Hotel, one of our favourite expressions for describing a piece of music was "stabby". During that era it was mostly thrown in the direction of AIDS Wolf, but also occasionally used as a default response to activities by the Tucker Bs, Bird Blobs, Baseball and a billion other Australian bands now lost in an unarchived period of bliss. This was our own literary-retarded way of describing something that was aggressive, but not particularly scary or uninviting. Sure, that song is driving a dirty homemade shiv into your scrotum, but it's also patting you on the back and/or crying on your shoulder about it's abandonment issues. Music is primarily a product created by humans after all.

It's a shame Newcastle's Lenin Lennon didn't exist (and the members of which probably weren't even born) at that time, as their music perfectly defines this. They even probably would have eventually adopted the expression as their own, with other bands described as "a little bit lennon" on their press release blurbs and new.myspace.com profile pages. An activity that inevitably would have caused those dickheads who think John is better than George to throw a minor pissy fit.

Back on topic. Here's five awesomely stabby songs from the steel city. Thirteen minutes of kidney punches, despair and agony, distilled into tales of death, slicing cunts in carparks with your Coles-approved "safety blade" and contracting mononucleosis from a filthy and loveable member of the opposite/same sex. While the music dominates throughout, thrusting itself forward with the determination of a stripper aiming his tackle at a gaggle of hens, it's the rarely decipherable vocals which bring it all together. Hoarsely yelled from behind a wall of chaos and only occasionally boosted by accompanying "harmonies", they are delivered as last words, nothing spared in their attempts to slice through the thick rhythmic domination — even if it's just a solitary, completely self-interpreted line. Is he saying "I think I love you" on Dead At 23? Is the hook on Boxcutter "lose your eye lids, I like the Grizzlies"? It's not really important. Not when each song is cuddling you tightly, only interlocking in such a benevolent embrace for the opportunity to whisper a final sweet nothing into your mind before swiftly removing your large intestine with a butter knife and using the organ as a rudimentary saxophone. And, after all, isn't that all we want from music?

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Record Reviews
Lenin Lennon


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yes yes yes, one of the better acts going around town last year...
looks like there travelling down the f3 abit more to.... enjoy.

5 years ago

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