"D.I.Y. Spells DIE" c40
(No Basement Is Deep Enough)
Guest Review By S. Howe

hey one of the guest reviewers wrote up my new tape...whatever, I'm posting it. - nkw
CAVE BEARS "D.I.Y. Spells DIE" (No Basement Is Deep Enough) C40
Guest Review by S. Howe from Montreal, QC
There is a secondhand household appliance place in easterly Montreal that uses Elvis Presley as a promotional tool. A Last Tango in Paris remake starring Tom Green and a computer-generated Rue Mcclanahan...Enter the Cave Bears, D.I.Y. Spells DIE. A perplexing discourse atop some sickly countrified guitar buckle introduces the A side, yielding shortly thereafter to the carcinogenic wizardry we all know and love somehow. This time around there is a point, though. Our sorcering troglodytes bluntly howl and smear their dissatisfaction for a certain artist amidst sundry slimline recorder clicks and forsaken feedback; a sibilant otherworldly backdrop of esoteric aimless guitar rubbing...brazenly recording themselves in hot spasmodic bursts over the music of Steely Dan (I believe), as the archetypal insult. There is maniacal laughter and something like closely-registered dry-heaving and/or regurgitation, several apoplectic seizures and, altogether, the utterly vile negation of art as a whole. An insincere apology precedes inappropriately conjured wolf cries and saxophone as one is soothingly transported by canoe, apparently, to the B side. The second half of this tape, contrariwise, is a delightful incursion of depravity. Within a few seconds I thought there was a problem with the sonic contraption itself and actually removed it from the deck slot for verification. A moaning lag and slowed high pitch was of course solely the classical trickery of knowledgeable tape manipulation. A minute or two of determined vampirism had me laughing unrestrainedly, and as obscene sounds of gobbling and gurgling joined the exacerbated 'drink some blood' statement, I was barely able to maintain anal composure. Then the issuance of evil whispers and yelped Neanderthal asininity betwixt inconsistent musical interludes and more piercing tape drag. Outlandish grunting and animal screeching to some mock death-metal sequence preludes a most hilarious orgy loop. We hear something rather familiar as the tape trundles onward: Gluey morsels from some other Cave Bears album, civil piano segments and several mongoloid outbursts. As a fringe benefit D.I.Y. Spells DIE also addresses flatulence and bird death. Wobbly reel tripe and impassive sarcastic lecture conclude this audio examination. A bright opaque-yellow cassette seems the simple viscera of an absurdly furred purplish puppet monster "case." I am convinced that this molting mass of mendicant fabric and rough glue-work gave me an eye infection. A must for your disproportionately packaged tape item pile (or should you enjoy laughing violently).

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S. Howe

no joke