“Jumping Fences With The Road Kill” split
(Sweat Power #004)

a guest review by Josh Landes, culled from the Feeding Tube Records "review a cassette" box

Coyote Slingshot is a frantic burst of plaintive whines, carnivalesque synth lines, and hyperbolically distressed lyrics. It sounds like a diary recitation at a raucous party: there is something very pained and personal to these fractured pop hymnals, but the sheer enthusiasm with which they are delivered pushes them into a frenzied sing-a-long of complete abandon and rapturous release. A touchstone on the path to this interesting and exhilarating sound would be Sunset Rubdown, but this cassette establishes an independent voice for members Dominic Rabalais, Camille Morehead, and Julia Ross. I would like to see this in a dank basement with maximum deranged gyrations. The first track, “I Should Have Killed You When I Had The Chance, If I Had Ever Gotten The Chance To Kill You”, is a stomper. The wordy title speaks to the wry sense of self the passionately rendered tracks impart onto the listener. This is their party. We are the ones in the stupid hats. The second track, “Grace From Terror”, begins with a facile, glee hook, and settles into a heads-down skank-fest with some delightfully rough guitar crunch and group vocals. The band nods to Neutral Milk Hotel and Black Flag on their internet presence, and I can see what they’re drawing from: the sort of lo-fi explosions of NMH cuts like “King Of Carrot Flowers Pts. 2-3” and BF’s grim determination and ‘into the red’ presentation. I like this band; they don’t seem to half-ass a goddamn thing and they have something to yell about.

The Caution (Comma) Lemmy side of the split consists of trembling electronic burbles and pitched squalls eating their way into your head in the background. Warm, gargled waves segue into more fuzzy eruptions. Textures are contrasted on the second track (“Senti-Mentali-Tease”) with interventions of heavily distorted and cracked noise landing atop a bed of hums. The third track brings in some vocal samples to languish beneath a heavy serving of whatever has been going on for the last few minutes. Its inability to engage the listener is perhaps due to the brevity of what are best described as aborted suggestions to sound. These propositions seem unfinished and don’t provide a great amount of accentuation to their meandering ideas. The perplexingly titled Caution (Comma) Lemmy remain a cipher to me.