Faxed Head - Chiropractic (c) 2001 Web Of Mimicry
Artist....: Faxed Head
Album.....: Chiropractic
Type......: Album
Source....: CDDA
Tracks....: 09
Genre.....: Avantgarde
Label.....: Web Of Mimicry
Catalogue#: WoM-007
Encoder...: LAME 3.97
Quality...: VBR kbps / 44.1KHz / Joint-Stereo
URL.......: http://www.discogs.com/release/858025
Tracklist:
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01 Rest Stop Cleaning 02:49
02 Demon's Chills 02:20
03 Deathly Peace 06:18
04 The Four Freshman 03:40
05 Farmer Ferdinand Hudson 03:19
06 Mr. Bus Driver 05:10
07 Chiropractic 02:48
08 Bring The Dead Boy Peace 03:05
09 Coalinga Love 05:50
Total:49,9 MB / 35:19 min
Release Notes:
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Additional Genres: Abstract, Black Metal, Doom Metal, Noise,
Experimental
Review From
http://www.allmusic.com/cg/amg.dll?p=amg&sql=10:hzfexq80ldte
The only decipherable lyrics in Faxed Head's album opener, "Rest Stop
Cleaning," come at the last two lines, which read: "Let them work fast
food jobs/Let them prove their worth." You know, it's too bad, because
the tongue-in-cheek words to the rest of this thrash/speed metal song
are pretty good. But you'll never know this unless you read the liner
notes that come with the CD, Chiropractic (this applies to most of the
disc, actually). For the record, "Rest Stop Cleaning" is about wayward
youth who have to, as punishment, clean out dirty and disgusting rest
stops, which, according to Faxed Head's lyrics, contain such goodies as
used condoms and syringes. The band's message here is that kids need
role models, not such chastising, which creates "monsters," an
allegation documented elsewhere in the song. Faxed Head's lyrics
throughout Chiropractic are truly impressive. They offer interesting,
oftentimes funny, perspectives on such things as a California roach
rest (roadside food court, infamous for serving bad food) on "Demon
Chills," to the title track, which coyly pokes fun at chiropractors,
who endure ubiquitous charges they are not "real" doctors. Elsewhere,
"Mr. Bus Driver" starkly and wittingly describes an average-Joe,
minimum-wage worker who, on this track, packages thongs in boxes for a
living. This song takes down the blistering tempo a notch and, hark --
are those lyrics you hear? The answer is yes. The intentional feedback,
drumstick-dropping noises, and other bleeps featured on "Bring the Dead
Boy Peace" are a nice touch and indicate just how cheeky these guys
are. The big question here, however, is: How do engineers do it? How do
they transform the human voice into something that sounds like a hybrid
of cupped-phone speaking, Phantom of the Opera theatrics, and
vein-popping screaming? And to the singers of such music: how do you
prevent your vocal chords from physically picking up and leaving your
throat? It sounds painful to sing in that style (although Ricola Cough
Drops isn't complaining). These mysteries notwithstanding, Chiropractic
is a good album. As far as this genre of music goes, the disc is as
crunchy as Grape Nuts, bizarre as a Twilight Zone episode, fast and
relentless as a car crash, and, refreshingly, smart stuff. Bonus points
for the great bandmember names: McPatrick Head, Neck Head, Jigsaw
Puzzle Head, LaBrea Tar Pits Head, and Fifth Head. You can't beat that.