The selection of butcher knives that adorns this lathe-cut's cover isn't really an apt representation of its contents. Anyone expecting great slab splitting chunks of noise will be sorely disappointed, this is a far more in-depth and busy release. Creating a no-mans land between noise and psychedelic crystallised drone, this is a restless listen where a thousand Catherine wheel cogs of sound sync and separate.
The unspooling speaker roughage that rushes out is like an aural spot painting made with vinyl silt. There's beauty in the purée that's otherworldly, totally unidentifiable, and thankfully never rises to the generic storm. Unidentified flying pieces of resonating treble take off from the track, bumping into the bottom-end sounds of an aircraft takeoff; both forming dislocated swarms. These galvanic circling energies may appear sourceless on the first few runs, but further listens offer up little roots.
Their collective noise (I'm assuming they're a collective, anyway) shows no signs of being inclement here, there's a no-negativity inherent in the sounds. I'm not claiming this is soft bath-time ambience, but there's something enjoyably uncontaminated about this record.16 Bitch Pile-Up are a soothing static flecked unguent on the throbbing wounds of improvised noise music.
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