PAIN TEENS Beast of Dreams, by Bliss Blood (original) (raw)

from: GUTS OF DARKNESS website

Translated from French

All bitches, except mom. Oh and even mom, all things considered; when you have the chance to have a founder who did not hesitate to tell us some sexual activities since her divorce, it may be said, that does not prevent the respect due to him for having brought out the eyes epidural, together with a beautiful package. But as we are all bastards us men it is a wonderful world, what to speak. Between bastards and bitches. And I know if you will chord (of course you will be), but redheads often have this something more singular, more carnivorous Venus flytrap trend. Blondes for sentimental arsonist. Cliché, yes: as their fiery hair.

B. Bliss is hot-blooded, hot as his fleece small Texan who dreams of escape to the hot country, in his daily of a bummer. It would make us even almost forget Elysian Fields, with its sensuality to ooze baseboards. The nuance is that eroticism turns shaman here. Psychedelic devil, the latter Pain Teens in vipèrité I tell you.

Never in the easy side, although Scott Ayers generous slice of counterfeit Oriental and all kinds of instruments as the Fab qu'aimaient oven during their trip to the Maharishi Yogi patchouli, we are in this aura of guru, the difference is that the matron is not bearded lady, rather belly dancer under which one liquefies.

Beast Of Dreams is one of the most sublime and marginal albums of the 90 alternatives, nothing less. A small masterpiece, even, dare we term as overused. With an atmosphere of inter-zone arabia (yes, Naked Lunch, but also think about the atmosphere of The Sheltering Sky, tea arranged to mushrooms, of course) has to dry up the rictus of Jaz Coleman, a fluidity to forget all these Bardo Pond if marked, which gives us our nest egg.

Curtain door ajar wooden beads: the opium den behind, bathed in strange red glow, and one is already won, or rather tasted without knowing. The beginning of the album is basically quite haunting and catchy, almost trip-hop in the effect, but it is already screwed. Damn damn for, so be devoured. Go ahead, put the language to see.

Let me carpaccio balasamique me thoroughly, ensorcelleuse allanguie, let me soak in your petals juice, let me stick my fingers, curl up in the palm of your tender breasts. Yes: quickly psychedelic side of Pain Teens takes over, psychedelic wizard kind, and Beast Of Dreams becomes a journey into a parallel world, disorder exoticism.

We hear a funk here to NIN voodoo, their abrasive trance riffs so old Monster Magnet liquefied later a cold wave as foggy bathroom after a shower an hour, and final film in the frozen Black its a vault ...

But, above all, a music haunted caravan. Transpires fantasy. This album has an atmosphere, a sound that cocottent the young woman sweating in her sheets, meat, hot, incense mixed with the smoke of Partagas, red wine ... and blood too, of course. Sweet, sweet sickness ...

(Saturday, May 9, 2015)