Henry, Portrait of a Serial Killer vocal delivery evoke the carcinogenic haze of our own refinery rows and killing fields. A little groovier, like Groovie Mann from Thrill Kill Kult minus the disco, but with added inextinguishable aggression, Spit Mask gives their repertoire of punishment, discipline, filth and depravity a little workout in advance of an upcoming European tour. While not exactly “Come On, Get Happy,” the gales of hiss and burning amp tones arranged and invoked by NOLA transplants/noise gurus Joseph and Vanessa Gates, performing here as Peiiste, seem positively life-affirming by comparison.
There’s something about a strobe light in an otherwise darkened room that promises an epiphany. Perhaps it’s just the precognitive liftoff of an incoming petit mal, but such blown-out optic-nerve satori goes hand in hand with the kind of homespun, hot-breath industrial assault going down here at David Cronenberg’s putative home away from home, Civic TV. Austin’s Street Sects may as well hail from South Houston; their blastbeat drum-machine tics, unnervingly alien sampler cycles, and road-rage-vs.-