Mar 18, 2017
A world where vegetation has been taken over by slabs of cold granite and the only non-monochromatic colors is the flickering of neon advertising proceeded food and manufactured pleasure. A planet where anything that may sound pastoral is drowned out by a caustic symphony of turmoil. A planet where alienation and distrust is the only emotion that is recognized and love and joy have been made illegal and punishable by death.
A world that was once thought to be only (partially) fictional though is the one HWY! sound as if they are completely already dwelling in. The rumbling bassline on "Minimal Head" that starts off their 4 song demo may trigger thoughts of an old hardcore band at first but when the coated in space gunk guitar blows the doors open to the running a gauntlet pummel of a rhythm and a voice that sounds like it is some kinda of extraterrestrial translator taking a shot at speaking English, things get really weird. A few quiet moments in the song trick the ears into thinking the lashing is over, but they're just eyes of the storm.
The wiggles that "Scammers" and "Tony From Hawaii" are rooted in the resonating of gigantic spring coils the vibrate violently. Both have a 1960's thing buried in their dissonance, the former with space age spy music twisting through the outbursts; the latter sounding like a what proceeds a luau held in a garage. Sure, that pig is gonna get roasted and an apple put in its mouth eventually but it's gotta get killed and the blood and guts drained first. That's the part the sound revel in the most. The minute and a half burst that's "Jacob Ladder" is like a mash up of those two songs if it was recorded while having a head on crash with a semi in the middle of an electrical storm.
Jan 24, 2016
Those things along with cannabis and jugs of California table wine seemed to be their diet of earthly delights and kept them fed. Pinko though sounds like they've embarked on a foraging adventure to regions beyond the voids of this planet to find things that go with expand their subsisting regiment. While the band has been no stranger to grooving things past six and to almost ten minutes from time to time in the past, there was always a template of straight up thing that, for the sake of not splitting to many (long) hairs, that's hard rock. The shortest of the three jams on this go round, the close to eight minute "Puff", begins by blasting asteroids with laser guided fuzz guns before drifting in some heavy atmosphere where dayglo imps thrive on oxygen that's been enriched by the Devil's lettuce.
The album's opener, the eleven minute "Wand II", with it's mélange of quasi-exotica, guitars conveying the feeling of squishy fungus, electrofied appropriations of flutes mimicking bird calls and freak jazz making a landing on some distant planet, it's like Sun Ra and his Astro Intergalactic Infinity Arkestra taking the listener on a tour of Martin Denny's Quiet Village. It's only a quiet at that moment though because the dragons are sleeping. They awaken when they smell the fresh meat wandering about and then the chase is on.
The sprawling "Mother Earth's Toe Jam" spins itself dizzy to several Amon Düül II albums at once in a cabbage field. It results in the largest mountain of the sourest kraut (rock) around. They feed it to the unclaimed children of Phallus Dei after they located them living at an abandoned drive in movie theater. The band then sticks around to watch scratchy and washed out art flicks edited down and repackaged as 8mm stag film loops of Uschi Obermaier boobs with them til dawn.