Wednesday, 25 September 2013

Senile Crocodile - Senile Crocodile

EP review by jay@thesoundofconfusion.co.uk


Hands down, that has to be the best name this year. This could be nose flute death-jazz and already it's winning me over. OK, it's not that (don’t say "shame"). Senile Crocodile serve up a heady brew that falls, well, pretty much falls wherever it wants. There are huge psychedelic flourishes, deep soundscapes that sound like they are reverberating off the walls of some subterranean cavern, while someone has swiped the Beatles' melody box, licked it clean and ejaculated the contents all over us. And that is just in the first hit of the first song 'Voyager'. Now you may fear that this is gonna make for some unlistenable avant-garde Eaton mess, but the magic of Senile Crocodile is that somehow he manages to pull it all together to make one intriguing, wondrous, eat me whole.

Next up is '5 year Plan'. It rears in on a poptastic riff then, (fear not, we ain't ever gonna stay on the straight and narrow here) we are submerged in everything. There is a blistering-in-the-sun guitar, Ginger Baker drums, a whirling dervish of sounds that ricochet off each other, creating an irresistible cacophony that you couldn't sing back, but will leave you sweaty as if you've just had a squad of zombie cheerleaders. And so onward to 'Modem', it is the closest we come to having a traditional rhythm and time. It flows and twists, at times it has a great hook which draws blood it sits that deep. Then the mutant gene is unleashed again creating a hydra-headed behemoth of Can, Funkadelic, Sabbath with a hint of, dare I say, Frusciante-led Chilis. Here the alchemy really works delivering so solid gold in 24-carat style.

And finally we are treated to the punkiod, Zappa-fried lunacy that is 'Terms And Conditions'. It falters slightly at the start with its sub-Cramps aping, then it recovers its freak footing and provides the sweetest melody vocal riff of the EP. Giving you your death-grip to hold on to as the rest of the 'Terms…' world is flung away with winks to Iggy, Lydon and Van Vliet, in a truly uncontrolled Dyson-cyclone of a trip. The End. And now breathe. Still a fucking amazing name. May get it tattooed…





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