There’s definitely noise, yes, but it’s more than just noise. Imagine if soundwaves were combustible and came with a label warning to keep away from open flames, discarded cigarette butts, and blowtorches. CAUTION: Toronto’s Plasmalab may (nay, will) rip you to shreds if you’re not careful. They’ve already been described as a “wet’n’wild feral animal trapped in a cage of its own creation,” so really, what more caution does one need before delving into their record Love/Life? A hazmat suit, perhaps?
Fuck it, I say. Come as you are, go with the flow, and let Plasmalab have its way with you. Sure, you’ll get the shitkicking of your life when “Flippy Man” bursts into “Pena”, but it will be the slow burning sensation of “The Rule” that’ll really do your head in. Its thick slice of angst and aggression is just a taste of what’s to come, though. Closing double-header “Hole in the Ground / Twenty Grand” is Plasmalab’s secret weapon; by the point it devolves into a snarling howl of rage and riot, you’ve reached a point of no return.
Visceral, caustic, and highly infectious, Love/Life is a excellent, acerbic slice of rage that no amount of warning can do justice to. Proceed at your own peril/pleasure.
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