Eagerly awaited debut album from oft-cited UK’s most out-there band, features in the works with The Quietus and Wire already.

180GM PRESSING – 500 COPIES ONLY.

Difficult times required difficult music, my Yarns, that’s why we had Guttersnipe; with its own sort of energy-kind there then.

Reiner: A singular yield, a singular yield now.
Barns: A whot?
Reiner: A singular yield mate! Rich guitar strang, flow motive pounding underneath.
Vox like Death come winding through the fields.
Barns: Hell of a way to describe a vocal style.
Me: Nah but for real my Donny, Have you read a presser 1 sheet lately? It’s the most

They say the PR era, circa late 80’s killed the golden age of music journalism:
They say Guttersnipe have continuously melted all the forms that they come up against. They are right. Because Guttersnipe is not part of a tradition we know well. You will identify the departure from it though, immediately, upon hearing My Mother The Vent. This LP, the promotional version of which, likely sits in your hands (disk, whatever). The innovation here is a FIRM commitment to the flowmotive polyrhythm underwriting the seared, nay fried, tonal rainbow and de-reasoned vox.

Not Nate Nelson, nor John the masseuse dude from Sightings but TIPULA CONFUSA. Don’t want to put the captain obvious pants on so tight I can’t jump around the yard because why waste a good yard hang. I’ll put on my blighty nighty instead. UROCERAS GIGAS has bridged so many gaps, finally unlocked the AxeWeld CODE and is really playing the thing. Not to mention bringing forth a world-view so utterly unique. Good luck finding anything like it.

Finally some REAL disjunction in the music; clear and intended. In an age when most computer music composers use stochastic systems and still manage to drop some linear pathground shit, the brawler drums and slanky guitar constructions on My Mother The Vent are a genuine treat. I’ve spent too much of my adult life so far hearing too much of this shit to not recognize REAL GAME. And here it crawls out of the grey shadows of ol’ BLIGHTY.

Our post-music age: after the fine human endeavour known as music, the result of letting the cybernetic run ITS horrible game on us. I’m not waxing confusingly in a rarefied tone here. Nor running the boring sci-fi script. I really think that is were we is. We left the human-music-on-a-human-scale behind and much to our detriment. Here we sit in our crumbling reality. But Guttersnipe come paleo, like the rhapsodes with long ass memories rattling off Homeric verse well into the age of manuscript culture, but here, with future tones. Luckily. Otherwise, me and the record label here wouldn’t be wasting our time and yours with a 1 sheet for My Mother The Vent.

So a proper first time on wax for these amazing creatures is a welcome addition to the world of things. These drums and these guit-lines are so cranké, as they say here in my odd neighborhood. These voices are so utterly expressive without even the damn language at hand ; like the great horns. We’ll rinse this record out, I’ll put on my old blighty nighty and go dance in the street.
Alex Moskos, Montreal, August 2018