KING AUTOMATIC Automatic Ray Voodoo
Rhythm ________________________________________________________
I can’t say for certain, but I think
King
Automatic might call himself that because he writes his ‘songs’ on the
spot. He’s a one-man noisebomb from France who cranks out headache making
blasts of spastic trash rock, inspired, I think, by 50’s goonabilly and
the sound of refrigerators falling off the backs of trucks on the highway
and smashing into oncoming traffic. The songs on Automatic Ray are
voodoo-fuzz freakouts, some of ‘em completely un-synched, resulting in
weirdo mish-mashes like “Waitress Problem” and “Welcome to Disneyworld”
that feature instrumentation so fractured that the barking drums sound
like they’re 5 steps ahead of the over-driven guitars, while some nut with
a bullhorn howls from the alley out back. The schizophrenic racket rarely
congeals, but when it does, as on King’s dead-on static-punk cover of Kraftwerk’s “The Model”, the searing, primal rock n’ roll hedonism rattling
deep in KA’s bones shine through. Mostly, though, he prefers screaming,
out-of-control drum machines, and a stuttering, blown-out guitar. It’s
just easier that way, I guess. Anyway, if the Cramps are too fuckin’
complicated for you, then get this. And then get some help.
I can’t say for certain, but I think
King
Automatic might call himself that because he writes his ‘songs’ on the
spot. He’s a one-man noisebomb from France who cranks out headache making
blasts of spastic trash rock, inspired, I think, by 50’s goonabilly and
the sound of refrigerators falling off the backs of trucks on the highway
and smashing into oncoming traffic. The songs on Automatic Ray are
voodoo-fuzz freakouts, some of ‘em completely un-synched, resulting in
weirdo mish-mashes like “Waitress Problem” and “Welcome to Disneyworld”
that feature instrumentation so fractured that the barking drums sound
like they’re 5 steps ahead of the over-driven guitars, while some nut with
a bullhorn howls from the alley out back. The schizophrenic racket rarely
congeals, but when it does, as on King’s dead-on static-punk cover of Kraftwerk’s “The Model”, the searing, primal rock n’ roll hedonism rattling
deep in KA’s bones shine through. Mostly, though, he prefers screaming,
out-of-control drum machines, and a stuttering, blown-out guitar. It’s
just easier that way, I guess. Anyway, if the Cramps are too fuckin’
complicated for you, then get this. And then get some help.