The terrifying dilapidated killer zombie has chased the nice, pretty girl through the dimly-lit corridors. But he has her cornered in a small room. There’s a scuffle. And just as he’s about to gorge on her flesh, she reaches for a nearby crowbar and rams it through the zombie’s skull. The zombie collapses to the ground and the girl is relieved. It’s all over. But then, out of nowhere, the zombie pops back up and grabs the girl by the neck. She yelps. A blood-curdling scream.
This is what Logikparty sound like. Just when you think the ghoulish nightmare is over, it starts all over again. After a moment of calm, a flash of hope, suddenly you’re on a broken carnival ride hurtling towards oblivion. But this dark, delirious, dizzy sound is what gives them an urgency, an offbeat intensity. ‘Blonde on Blonde on Blonde’ is euphorically scary white funk. As the arpeggiated synth-bass builds, you can’t help looking over your shoulder to check you’re not being followed. ‘Cave Pain Things’ (they do like their puns) sounds like a full-on panic attack. ‘Guesse Flesch’ too, where the ending builds up into a wall of razor-guitared, Burundi-drummed tribal rage. While ‘Drop City’ is one of the most subtly disconcerting pieces of music ever committed to wax.
Yes, they have a gigantic sleeveful of influences. F.A.C.T.O.R.Y. The Scream. No wave. Ubu. Dub rhythms. The Birthday Party. In fact, Logikparty = ruined, creepy birthday parties. This is a good thing. In fact, Logikparty beautifully itch up the safe, Xeroxed guitar scene that has somehow overwhelmed the Irish underground. No instrumental post-rock that predictably switches from muted to blustering here. Thank you Logikparty.