KK NULL / SCUMEARTH  split  CD   (Phage Tapes)   11.98

Brain-melting, intergalactic extreme electronics from Zeni Geva mastermind KK Null and newer Spanish noise outfit Scumearth, courtesy of the fine noise-curators at Phage Tapes...

KK Null's twenty-minute "Plutonium 2011" is first, opening the disc with his patented brand of extreme cosmic electronic chaos. Starbursts of swarming high-frequency glitch and distorted feedback waves shower over the first few minutes of the track, but then a pulsating rhythmic beat appears, sputtering and throbbing beneath an increasingly frenzied tapestry of manipulated vocal noises, brutal blown-out glitch-noise, and laserblast effects. As it progresses, the rhythm evolves into something slightly more akin to a super-distorted drum n' bass loop, but buried under a ton of noise and effects. It breaks off into sparser sections where the rhythmic loop disappears and you're assaulted with harsh, psychedelic electronics, but it keeps finding it's way back to the more violent rhythms over the entire track. Not unlike some of his other recent works (there are definitely similarities between this and his Neurot album Oxygen Flash), this comes off like an exercise in brutal, noise-irradiated jungle mutated almost beyond recognition.

Like KK Null, the Spanish project Scumearth also uses electronic gliitch as one the key building blocks to their apocalyptic soundscapes, but the three tracks that are presented here have little to no rhythmic drive, instead focusing on contrasting controlled blasts of ferocious extreme digital filth with stretches of abyssal black ambience. The track titles all evoke visions of modernized warfare ("Search & Destroy", "Obsolete Signal Technology", "Kevlar Armoured") and intersperse sampled military transmissions with the eruptions of electronic violence and walls of black static to create an unsettling, extremely hostile atmosphere.

When the two artists finally come together for the collaborative track "Time-Quake" at the end of the disc, you can't really pick their sounds apart. Each musician pummels the track with an assortment of throbbing synth noise, jittery machine rhythms, and crazed atonal melodies for the first half, but then it transforms into a series of hyper-abstract drones and crackling granular glitch that finishes the track.

This blast of brutal electronics comes in a screen-printed arigato case, limited to 250 copies.