Artist: Snacks For Pterri
Title: Clencht Fist
Keywords: Rhythmic Noise, Abstract
Reviewer: Alex Spalding
There was a rustle among the trees. “Crikey,” said the sexy, intrepid music journalist, in a tone that primarily conveyed that he was totally fearless in the face of the situation unfolding around him, but with just enough of an air of nervousness to convince the reader that he was not actually a golden sexy god of sex sent to titillate everyone with his seemingly infinite sex appeal, but was also just a man, in a jungle, among other predators, named Alex, if you would believe that, which you’d better, because it’s true. He tightly held the gun with both hands… no, actually, he held it with just one hand, firmly… casually, even, with the effortless grace of a hunter. It wasn’t a gun, now that I think of it, it was a machete. He made it himself. Anyway, he swept a single bead of sweat from his brow. It wasn’t really sweat, nothing to do with anxious anticipation, but more likely some kind of condensation that would have inevitably developed because jungles are so hot and there is definitely humidity, so it was only natural that it would have been there. Then, he continued speaking, as he was earlier, saying, “what kind of butthole monsters are these?”
It was at that very moment that he heard a giggle emanate from a thick part of the brush. Following this, a clown with a row of sharp teeth stepped out from behind a gnarled thicket and into a small, visible clearing of trees. “That’s funny,” said the sexy machete-wielding music reviewer, making a sexy pun that would have obviously sent everyone in the vicinity to the emergency room, in stitches. Just as our hero had began bracing himself to throw the machete at the horrible clown, which he would have obviously followed with a leap from the tree he sat in, a roundhouse kick to the face, and probably a thousand other lightning-quick and super awesome martial arts moves, a dart flew through the air, landing in the clown’s chest. The evil clown roared, in a very un-clownlike way, and crumpled to the forest floor. The hunter’s eyes turned sharply from the body of the clown to follow the apparent source of the dart.
Ten of them.
Maybe a hundred.
Riding on velociraptors.
This wouldn’t be a problem, of course. Not that ninjas on velociraptors aren’t a deadly threat, just that the hunter was a very experienced runner and was already one step ahead of you on his way out of this god-forsaken forest from hell. And, these were the events we’re just gonna say lead up to where we’re at now — paradoxically, as what follows will continue being written in past tense. Anyway, if we can just agree on this version of events, I’ll continue. Thanks.
So, just when it looked like all hope was lost, not because our lovely music reviewer wasn’t completely capable of taking on a hundred ninjas on velociraptors with a gun or machete, but just that he’d decided to save his energy by running away for a minute so he could pull off his much cooler Plan B, but kind of needed a break for a minute next to this tree to catch his breath… uh, but yes, okay, so it was at that minute an amazing thing happened! Oh, yes, it was very amazing! Suddenly, Snacks For Pterri came in with ‘Clencht Fist’! The sound of it was like a noisy, bludgeoning club, smacking all those ninjas off their dinos. It was surprisingly catchy, rhythmic and dancy, with underlying white noise surges. Soon, rising up in the mix was a lofi pulsewave, like a dysfunctional Gameboy spitting corrosive, AA battery acid into your lap after sitting in a hot car for a weekend. As it went along, it became intoxicating, hypnotic. The forest couldn’t take the industrial heat and soon went up in flames, hurling smoke into the air. Killer clowns could be seen running from out of the chaos, choking on the ash and futilely attempting to douse the upstart fires with those little flower hoses attached to their clown coats. After a while longer, clipped up breakbeats came into the mix. The ninjas got drawn into the groove and attempted to dance, but the woods were really no place for that kind of thing, especially while on fire. The bass was so intense that the remaining dinosaur’s heads exploded, causing their re-extinction. Everything seemed at the end to fold into a pocket of white noise wing flaps, like a giant moth dust cropping us to oblivion.
It was all a lot to take in. I still can’t believe I survived. But, if I could go back in time, I’d do it all again, except that I probably would have just eaten at Denny’s instead of taking a machete into a forest where I knew there would be clowns. Anyway, the moral of this story is to click the link below and listen to this classic Noise-Joy gem for yourself. Until next time, dear weirdos!