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I still can't stand....

aphexin | Snobtown, Elitistville | 08/20/2002

(4 out of 5 stars)

"From the opening guitar discordance of the first track to the final parched shriek of the vocals on the last track, your ears will be subjected to some of the most raucous noise ever committed to vinyl, or in this case, flimsy over-priced plastic. But fear not, for the attack that is launched on the listener through these nineteen or so tracks will no doubt crack a grin through a jaded listeners eternal sneer. It cracked mine, mind you.
Absolute disregard for conventionalism and safety is the name of the game here, as CWV plow through the songs on here with the mentality of brain surgeon after an eight hour coke binge. The musicians, or doctor, come into their respective residences of practice and ultimately decide to stray from whatever some textbook might have taught them in the past, and proceed to think to themselves: "Conventionalism and safety be damned!! This is about me, me, me!!" They pick up their instruments (guitar, drumsticks, scalpel, forceps, etc.) and go to work, all the while humming a mindless tune as brain fluid leaps into the air from a misplaced prick of the scalpel or the careless swing of a guitar (you choose).
Anyway, CWV will hurt your ears should you listen to them too loudly. Their version of grind is not for the faint hearted, as the scratchy production job only enhances the cerebral flavor that entices the listener back to it for repeated spinnings. At certain points, the vocalist seems to be shouting something completely from left field, even though the lyrics are supplied. Example: in the first song, I swear, to this day as well, that he is shouting "Shake that hassenfeffer! Shake that hassenfeffer!" But maybe my ears fail me more often than I am led to believe. Unfortunately, as the disc spins further and further towards completion, you might find your interest lagging a bit if complicated crust-core isn't entirely your puddle of brain hemorrhage. "Paging Dr. Smith.....""