They didn’t listen even if they were told. Today’s new band are ADHD-made -flesh, or the logical conclusion of what happens when a group of individuals obsess over more ideas than they have time to play with.
The more-is-more ethos displayed in Prick On The Racetrack to be admired wholeheartedly: just as a pineapple is actually a collection of fruitlets that form a whole, this song is a constantly rotating, mutating, splicing, dividing collection of song-chunks.
And so when the vocals begin two-thirds of the way through the song, the effect is disconcerting: having constructed a song from their odd building blocks – disconnected cubes of noise – suddenly it all gains focus, as if 15 TV screens de-blur and reveal the same image suddenly and simultaneously.
The song wanders off again – but now we understand. Weirdly, Secretaire have forced us to listen in the manner they choose. Obtusely fascinating.
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