Sunil Sharpe is Ireland's chief ambassador for the nastier side of techno, sonically on a sharp upward (downward?) trajectory since the actual '90s and frequently mentioned in the same sentences, promotional material, and internet blog postings as words like "surgeon", "truss", "karenn" plus other assorted terms that mean a great deal to those in the know.
But we're not here to make comparisions or hang on coat tails, let's deal with what we've got - in this case it is four great slabs of bastard-heavy marching equipment.
Opening shot 'Jamm 1' has that unfortunate slash awesome quality that only the most paranoid and unhinged 4/4 machine music can possess. "Where am I? Can they hear this too? Have I gone too far?" If you answer "I don't know" to all three questions, chances are you are listening to this track at 4am in some lawless dystopian bunker and some serious life-choice reappraisal will have to be made when/if you wake up the following day. Truly wild atonal pulsing-turns-to-screaming over a frankly sadistic 6 minutes plus change that remains at various peak levels of intensity for the duration.
Next up 'Eyebrow' stubbornly ignores the incessant warning signal buzzing away from the console throughout. Though as the smoke rises and sparks start to fly it would be best practise to get the hell out of there and leave the machines to themselves - the hot swelling improv of melting circuits, knobs, and LEDs is worth sticking around for, whatever the risk. At about the 4:30 mark it finally starts to deteriorate irreversibly; the studio is a bubbling, malfunctioning mess - the warning signal gurgles to a halt and the rhythm box shorts out.
Needless to say, B opener 'Stitches' will not have you in stitches of the jolly sort - think instead along surgical lines. Razor sharp hats cut to the bone of an already strangled acid line, while just below the slashing some nameless aquatic monstrosity babbles orders at you in an unrecognisable tongue. Bit of a 'mare really.
For a closer, thankfully in 'Late Drift' we get the nearest thing to a breather you're going to get on this EP. The fear is constant but no jump scares, just a sinister wavering signal bobbing up to the surface every so often while almost imperceptible raspy biomechanical breathing is kept at bay behind the barbed top end percussion.
Not addressed in any of the above but worth mentioning before signing off - each of the above abominations contain enough deep kicking electrified thumps to successfully defibrillate the 2 day old carcass of a beached whale.
Originally released as an edition of 300 white vinyl 12"s