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Newest CD from America's, and arguably the World's, premier harsh noise artist, T.E.F. 

2nd Pressing.


T.E.F. - Wrought

T.E.F. - Shorthand for I hope you’re paying attention. Because you really need to pay attention. Pause for the briefest moment to isolate what you think you’re hearing, and the neurons get whiplash. There are of course moments. Moments, in between massed clusters of  fully torqued hyperspastique, well-lubed lightning knives duly apeshitting across a fully lit spectrum. Moments no less exacting, but forgiving, at least of neurons in need of respite. Such moments in many ways define what T.E.F. has here wrought, tightening the reins on the signature spastics, demanding attention, exacting focus, as though to say, here, here: here is the good bit, so pay attention. At which point the neurons hand in their notice.

Meanwhile, attend to some good bit: <deep breath> precision-guided thrusts across  full-flavored frequency spectrums, hammering down with percussive force wrought by barest teethy glints of acoustic metal-on-metal mc’thwack, grinding incisors working overtime amid panicked fuckfrenzies of disordered compulsion, epileptic brain-strobes jerking neurons around like…so much jerking stuff. And attend to it you will, see, cause it’s all so meticulously plotted, mapped, signposted. Signature spastics, sure, but wrought with an elegance and artistry that both exacts focus and rewards it with ever-refreshed appreciation for not only how much can be done, but how much more there is yet to be done in the fields, the endless and expansive fields, of Harsh and Noise.

So to say, T.E.F. writ comprehensible. Or better, T.E.F. – the starter kit. Get lost in blister-necked accelerations of turbulent excreta fantastique, where jagged shards of spiky shrapnel sluice through asymmetric endpoints of knife-edged precarity. Then slide into slow rolls of gilded acoustic clank, where atmos-laden shivers gently escort perspective to the next apeshit chamber. Now, as before, all shrieking hell is due to re-commence, just….there, at that perfectly bejezussed point just prior to baited expectation. After all, what’s a little whiplash between neurons?

Jason Soddy

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