I’m already a little grossed out by the stylized
flesh on the cover, cartoon flies added for effect, before I even pop in this
tape. I don’t even know what to expect, but I’m already smelling it – that
sweet, ripe, decaying odor that’s as revolting as it is familiar. If that’s the
flesh of a skunk, then there’s an additional olfactory element. Let’s just say
it doesn’t do the already-pungent mélange any favors.
This is all before “Tit Tat” even gets ten seconds
into itself. The violently low synth bass reverberates throughout my whole
body, like Road Kill – the band, not the item – has been perched on my chest,
sitting there until this very moment, ready to rip an intense series of farts
until I’m convulsing in distress and choking on yet another scented
accoutrement to this whole thing. The fact that this is even called EAT has me running to the nearest toilet
and heaving up whatever little is left in my stomach, while Roadkill cackles
maniacally from where I’ve shoved them, continuing to utterly destroy the
atmosphere around them with their anal explosions.
Ten seconds in, people.
Beyond that, Roadkill cooks up a particularly nasty
strain of synth-punk, indebted to Suicide, Skinny Puppy, and Butthole Surfers.
And while you may never want to eat again after this noxious mini-album, you’ll
certainly be going back for seconds on EAT.
(I’m so lame.)
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