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Wasteful Consumption Patterns
Review of the latest lacerating musical macabre from DJ Korpserape and his Wasteful Consumption Patterns.
Wasteful Consumption Patterns
Wasteful Consumption Patterns' sophomore LP Khrome belongs to that rare class of undefinable freak rock that might be accurately described not in terms of genre but in terms of abilities—ability to induce vomiting, ability to induce radical thought, ability to chasten the Guantanamo detainee when its multiple tracks of unrelenting musical chaos are piped into his crusty eustachian tubes by a creative torture expert with a thing for the psychological warfare of the ghetto blaster.
Khrome's closest contemporaries are not the Marilyn Manson and Butthole Surfers that some critics have claimed, rather it's someone like Pre or a group like Bile that come to mind as kissin' cousins to this particular plethora of craven cranium-splitters. But ignore all comparisons and pretenses, keen listener, because the coup here is in W.C.P. frontman DJ Korpserape's sheer singularity as a one-man music creature. On every single track, Korpserape displays a versatility and determination that's largely unmatched by any artist you might lump him in with.
I got physically ill in the best (or worst) way listening to just four tracks off this sick, pernicious aural sex offender, and getting lost in its maze of thunder. And by that I mean to say, I was bathed in crimson and taught to scream, which of course tickles me pink and gets me to spill my ink. And that's what it's really all about—a soundtrack for the paranoid times of terabyte disaster recall and hard rock relief from the horrors, perceived and real.
Khrome is one of those collections that's made for us freakish folks who believe that the whole doesn't necessarily have to be greater than the sum of its parts. For what we have here is a king's ransom of kick-ass jams that all measure up to their predecessor. No filler, just aggressive unpredictability and wizardry poised to make your pleasure glands weep, and that's what they do! Repeatedly!
“Catastrophe,” a somewhat weak opener, serves as a sort of ruse, as it does little to prepare the unsuspecting listener for the doom tunes and schizoid soothsaying that are to come in pandemonium-worshiping platters such as “Empty The Clips” and the deliciously twisted rap-rock number “Chainsaw Fucker.”
What we have here is the “logical progression” of an iconoclastic artist as social commentator (the bath salt yarn “Eat Your Face” and Facefuck of “OMG”), with W-C-P making good on its namesake by exploring the nether regions of a society in retrograde.
Samples from warped 80's black comedies like Heathers set the tone for balls-out lyrical and instrumental bizarro berserking as W-C-P hammer out a blitzkrieg of beautifully demented, ne'er-overproduced and always inventive joints like “Empty The Clips” and “What,” both of which are destined for placement in the cult culture sub-conscious, each of them possessive of a whirling nightmare movie quality that should appeal to anyone fond of dancing skeletons and fog-thick theremin.
Marrying the B-horror aesthetic of Rob Zombie's “hellbilly” style to the dubstep intensity of Skrillex, Wasteful Consumption Patterns crafts something that's hard to pin down in terms of traditional reviewer terms like “masterpiece” or “galvanizing” but which could, very plausibly, be both. Put simply (or maybe not), it is the music of crunchy rattled berserkers with cold blue throats full of fire confronting the cotton-mouthed inevitable terrors with bride of Frankenstein teasejobs and brains hard-wired to the Night of Pan.
Khrome hits streets on Halloween, 2012.