Album Review: Singapore Sling – ‘Psych Fuck’


‘Psych Fuck’ by Singapore Sling, buy it, love it, the end…

Listen, feel, assimilate, emote, sensate…

As a kid, I would have sat with the dictionary for hours, chasing “meanings”, following roots, finding nothing, repeatedly exposing words as empty vessels, crude, devoid approximations, blunt communicative tools, pregnant inadequacies…

“I want my own stuff, my own rhythm, and vowels and consonants too, matching the rhythm and all my own.” – Dada Manifesto, Hugo Ball 1916.

Thus “Foronicity” was born…

Liberation from the constraints of words and meaning, passionately embracing the collage of protest, the chaotic irrationality of insane spectacle, the overthrow of collective homicide and bourgeois apathy…

The crushing irony of these verbose, cut and paste flailings writ large, the provocateur’s calling, my only excuse…

Side ‘Psych’

‘Dive In’, originally penned by Sölvi Blöndal and Höskuldur Ólafsson, of Icelandic guerrilla rappers Quarashi, is here rejuvenated with Henrik sharing vocal duties with sister, Anna. It spirals sparsely into phengophobic view, a cascading, penny dreadful danse macabre, a disemboweled Samhainian celebration; ‘Let it Roll, Let it Rise’, oozes menacing psychabilly strut, rumbling with ghastly, orchestral b-movie theatrics; ‘ÆJL’, casts it’s cloakingly discordant spell, an organ-orgasmic, hymnal solicitation, demanding action satisfaction; ‘Na Na Now’, lurches into frame, a VU-tinged, paean to hadesian self sufficiency; ‘Try’, is a sweeping gothic dub epic, lacerated with substance abused anaemia, underpinned with a punctured, glacial, subterranean, laconic vocal; ‘The Underground’, is a skippingly whimsical, untrammelled, Appalachian horror-blues fest.

Side ‘Fuck’

‘Dying Alive’, again sees Henrik sharing vocals with sister, Anna – the jarring tribal beats, providing the canvas for their intertwined, Spector-esque slashing abstraction; ‘Give Me Some Other’, is a vibrant, Link Wray washed, existential, anatomical replacement request; ‘Glitter’, thunders with a claustrophobic, enveloping wall of sound; ‘Astronaut’, is a chiming, nihilistic escapist daydream; ‘Shithole Town’, slinks languidly, a vituperated eulogy; Curtain closer, ‘The Tower of Foronicity’, is a kaleidoscopic, helter-skeltering, foronic, ouroboros resignation…

Degenerate art or inner colloquy with one’s good somamantic angel? Hitch a ride on those telluric currents and you decide…

Available now from Fuzz Club Records in a Deluxe Edition of 100 copies on transparent red vinyl, gate fold cover with silkscreened artwork, numbered, embossed and stamped. Limited also to 400 copies on Standard edition black vinyl.

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