Just in time for the holidays: a suspicious package found to consist of nasty, vicious, weapons-grade grindcore, at a time when this reviewer wavered on the brink of a mental breakdown, nerves battered by work, school, the Middle East crisis and disturbing new information about all those bullet fragments found in Don King's head (maybe he's really the prototype for some kind of human-powered sattelite dish, and not an eccentric fight promotor at all!)
So, as I told my last shrink before he left town without leaving a forwarding address, Vulgar Pigeons pushed me over the edge. The San Francisco Bay Area titans of Ginzu riffs, vomited lyrics, random terroristic song fragments delivered with the go-for-broke despair of professional mimes with Tourette's carry the torch lit by Napalm Death on their immortable Scum debut and otherwise twirled, thrown and used to incinerate passing civilians by acts like Anal C**t, Final Exit, Gore Beyond Necropsy et al. It is insufficient to listen to this album -- one must be corkscrewed into the floor by its might, or found lacking. You're either with Vulgar Pigeons or you're with the imperialist scum. Standout tracks: "Lampshade Desire" and "Flip Off Your Boss." That is all.
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