The beautiful sound of Smegma is a maxi fly captured by nobody less than Smegma itself. Well it’s not really a maxi fly, but I thought it looked nice in typed letters. It’s actually alive, this smegma & sounds rancid, juicy and bluesy-jazzy shiny blimey hocus pocus style. It even has a voice comparable to a drunk Louis Armstrong and the sizzling bits of salty sour substance that shines on a blood-fueled lucid hard rock sausage.
It’s a weird combo, but somehow always right. Like those crispy chips that don’t make sense on the packaging but somehow in the mouth become a flavoring party in which it all becomes a exciting sensible flavor fest. Smegma flutes like birds, dipping their nipples into cupcakes filled with hallucinating ingredients that turn those flutes in classy sounding trumpet sounds to put your hat off for.
Smegma describes itself musically and even know it does; good luck to figure it out with statics and normal senses. It’s more like you see Smegma and become unexpectedly part of a theatrical expression of the arts made by once-trained-musicians now returned back to live as liquid speckled nastiness forming a cute residue of smelly originals.
Smegma easily captures your senses, by smell, view and ears it poops in like the sound of nasty elephant farts, high flying airplanes and a mirage of swollen psychedelic instrumental bits. It is all explained on the page for this release, yet feels just as good when being entertained by it in obnoxious forms. In fact Smegma in general might have a bad name, but the self described version of itself is sounding much pleasant and interesting than any presumption of Smegma would ever dare to discuss.
This review probably is a lot of hullabaloo, but this is Drunk Derrick writing it & I’ll give it four thumps up! The best Smegma you’ll ever know!