CONVIVIAL CANNIBAL "Death Dubitabulis" (Ignorant Ear Tapes)

I don't know what the fuck I'm hearing, which is probably, sometimes, the point.  Other times there's a guitar.  I hear very bass-fucked-overdriven feedback noise, like you just dropped a microphone inside of a speaker cabinet and let it drive itself. 

With titles like [i can't read this shit] and i can't really read this shit either (I can't read this shit,) you get exactly what you expect, if you knew what to expect based on the cut-out minotaur that doesn't fit in the case and the sort of card-stock hard-to-read deal that's the jacket and the blank cassette.  (actual song titles are things like Assassins Of Our Youth, Population: Liquid, Society Senectitude, and Curveless Crookedness, in case you're actually looking for information here.)

This is brilliant if you're looking for something that makes you wonder if you're shit's fucked up (or maybe my shit's just fucked up,) with voices from inside the capsule of a moon rocket, except the voices are talking about scrabble, maybe, or what's for dinner.  (Nobody's talking about anything, as far as I can tell.) And that's probably the point. My mind puts into this what it wants, and when that's not "fuck is my shit broken?" it's "I could probably use this in the garage this halloween to cover up the actual screams." 

There is a success achieved here, a dark and frightening cauldron of noise, sloshings, backwards things buried in that broken speaker cabinet.  Some little dude in the corner keeps asking if I'm sure about that.  I'm not.  This low rumbling speaker broken rocket thrust sound is overwhelming, and though it's certainly not making me shit myself, I'm listening in the middle of the afternoon and the sun's still out there and I'm glad for it. 

Probably the way tapes ought to be used, this mess of downtempo fuckery, sampling and weirdness, in the jacket with the name of the album spelled differently that it is on bandcamp ("dubitabilis" online, "dubitabulis" in the jacket that looks very much like a photocopied, dirtied up collage of death imagery and song titles that are hard to read,) this is DEFINITELY something you want on cassette more than any other medium.  Feed that noise from that deceptively thin piece of ribbon with all that magnetic magic on it right over your metal play head and ignore anything anybody has to say about it. 
The package matches the chops, here, and though there's nothing groundbreaking or surprising, this is solidly compelling and will be useful on halloween, during ritual sacrifices, or if you just like listening to dark, droning sounds that, somewhere in the chain, definitely encountered or caused some broken shit.

-- Kingo Sleemer