Devastator and I were aurally assaulted last night by the infamous British noise group Whitehouse. How to describe Whitehouse? Imagine a freight train steaming through a factory. Imagine the hiss of one thousand radiators and the howl of two thousand air raid sirens. Imagine the anger and disgust of a nation screamed through a megaphone three miles wide. Now multiply all that by five. You're getting closer.
Droning, screeching blasts of white noise pounded us until I was convinced my ears no longer worked and all sound was now being absorbed through my sternum. Various internal organs vibrated and churned to hammering pulses of subsonic bass. And throughout this audio barrage, I smiled ear-to-ear at the surreal sight of such mayhem being created by two men who looked like visiting professors from Oxford. Wolves in sheeps' clothing, indeed.
Extreme times require extreme music. Thank you, Whitehouse, and thank you, Devastator, for one sledgehammer of a birthday gift.
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