Waste 7” ed of 220
Wantage Records Aug 2012
Let’s out with the excuses first, so’s I can get back to what I does: apartment shuffle, fridge disaster, faulty wiring, 4am circumcision, cat stuck in beard, temporary lack of internet. Only one is real, but I’ll let you pick it out.
What itchy, pimply, perma-belching noise would a pair of math majors from Albini’s home state, weened on the Dead and the Stooges and sired by an AbEx painter produce? A galldern good’n! But that shouldn’t be much of a cold, clammy slap to them that peeped Mordecai’s debut (now available for free peepage in full on they bandcamp doodad). Therein promises were made, and herein they are overnighted.
Despite the suspicious date stamp on this missive, I aint’ been sleepin’ on this, just beside it. Granted, it be fitful snatches of snooze, but well worth it after a full eve throwin buckets of shade on my landlord’s voicemail. “Waste” busts n oozes like a cold sore I picked up off the floor of a bar one time, then lets loose with a lost Columbus OH riff on heinous painkillers only to toss itself out a first floor window and into the compost 2 minutes later. A killer start whose inner puss floods with each successive needle drop. It’s Cleveland, Christchurch, London & Melbourne all at once without a shred of study or even a map. Just a long, damp basement fermentation, mean as Honey Bun wine from a juvie toilet. Hell, it even works on 33, which is high praise where I stay. “Drag Down” starts like such a beater, I thought Mike Pagan was finna show up with a gas can & a wrench. But under the hood revs an anxious lil engine that’ll get you to & from in a Missoula minute. It also boasts my favorite guitar defrags of the year so far.
Sure, you could just tool on over to the aforementioned bandcamp and get the goods for the price of a dented Steel Reserve, OR you could be a decent human and holler at Midheaven, Wantage, or Little Big Chief for actual sound.
Sure did talk to ya.
by Wren Nigel Reath
Fuck You, Counselor Review of Mordecai - ‘Waste’ Rec.