The term “world music” strikes me as racist; it’s a genre based on the premise that the U.S. is at the center and the “world” is out there somewhere. It’s all one world, no? No More Art: This is a slam dunk without even getting off the couch. Think Masshysteri, Vånna Inget, Assassinators, Knugen Faller, slower El Banda. (If you just had five question marks pop up in your thought bubble, please check them out.) The guitars lay out the spools of barbed wire, the bass builds the wall of the prison, the drums are the truncheon in a deranged guard’s hands, and the voice is like a dove of hope flitting above the gulag. Tension, forced captivity, iced-over earth, and that sliver of hope that keeps us all from offing ourselves right here and now. Doom Town: The Red Dons’ fingerprints are all over this but they’re not at the crime scene. (Haji mastered it, Will did the layout.) I’m fine with the osmosis, that eerie ethereality rebarred in heavy chunks of concrete, that paranoia and concision—all of it is all evident. Excellent split.
