Get revenge on neighbors with these CDs
It's like a battle sequence from "Apocalypse Now" -- if said film took place in a Lil Jon video populated by Hispanic street toughs.
Police helicopters. Bowel-quaking bass music. The occasional ear-bleeding mariachi jam. This is what my apartment complex sounds like.
The din is a bit much at times, but, like Jesus said, "Don't get mad, get even, brah." And so, upon occasion, I'm forced to fight fire with fire -- and by "fire," I mean righteously obnoxious tunes guaranteed to punish all noisemakers.
With this in mind, here are some of my favorite awesomely annoying albums to put the neighbors in their place:
Agoraphobic Nosebleed, "Bestial Machinery": The staff at Miracle Ear ought to be sending Agoraphobic Nosebleed mainman Scott Hull royalty checks, because between this and his full-time project -- the equally overwhelming Pig Destroyer -- the dude is responsible for more hearing loss than old age. On disc one of this two-CD cluster bomb, Hull blasts out more than 70 tracks of irate, clenched-teeth digital grind in under 40 minutes. It sounds like a root canal feels.
Hawd Gankstuh Rappuhs Emsees Wid Ghatz, "2 Hype 2 Wype": If the Butthole Surfers were hip-hop satirists fond of Miss Teen South Carolina-dumb tunes about sniffing Krazy Glue, drinking Robitussin and the wonders of Richard Simmons, they'd be this trio of alter-egoed MCs.
With Dook Crapmore, Flybot Van Damn and God Albino all rapping through vocal processors that make them sound like Satanic cartoon characters weened on paint chips, they come with such edifying hits as "Roll Around Like A Slob," "I Don't Tip" and the touching "Mind If I Fart?" Like a steady diet of Milwaukee's Best, it'll kill your brain real quicklike -- but, you know, in a fun way.
Boredoms, "Pop Tatari": Saw this bunch on Lollapalooza '94, where their "songs" irritated shirtless frat dudes like a series of field sobriety tests. At first, digesting this Japanese ensemble's free-form, surrealist prog outbursts is like attempting to split an atom with a butter knife: a bit difficult to parse. It's some exhilarating stuff, but to the uninitiated, it sounds like a chipmunk in a blender. On puree. In a minefield. As anvils rain from the sky.
Larry "Wild Man" Fischer, "Wildmania": An acid flashback in human form, Fischer is a paranoid schizophrenic street musician whose crazed catalog is like arsenic in the pop Kool-Aid. Kind of like a more deranged, less musically accomplished Daniel Johnston, Fischer yelps out dirt-simple ditties in a hoarse, atonal bray that's impossible to get out of your head. Brilliant and brain-dead all at once.
My girlfriend hates this guy so much, if I play his stuff, I'm sleeping on the couch.
And as for the neighbors, well, they won't be sleeping at all.
Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at jbracelin@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0476.
