���Yet another recent vinyl offering from master axe-torturer Stefan Jaworzyn, one of the prime movers from the UK industrial underground of the 1980s onward as a member of the OG lineup of noise rock crushers Skullflower and blistering improv duo Ascension (as well as the editor of the terrific exploitation film mag Shock Xpress, but that's another story). All of the records I've picked up lately from Jaworzyn have offered distinctly different musical approaches, ranging from the nauseating scrabbly improv guitar noise of the Will Montgomery 10" and the primitive drum-machine driven industrial scum-synth of Drained Of Connotation, to the malfunctioning mindmelting glitchery of The Annihilating Light. This one (out on Irish psych-noise label Trensmat and now sold out at the source) might be the most conventionally approachable of the lot, though that's not saying much.

��� Jaworzyn still splatters his long sprawling tracks with a seemingly endless assault of bleeping electronic noise and crude laserblast effects, the sound riddled with primitive synthesizer rot that can sometimes be reminiscent of the morbid power electronics of Maurizio Bianchi, but on the first track "Biorigged" at least, he welds that to an infectious distorted breakbeat that wouldn't be out of place on a more adventurous and noise-friendly dancefloor. That blown-out boom-bap skitters furiously along the full length of the song, almost like some aggro Tackhead track infested with garbled alien glitchery. Funky is not something I would normally attribute to one of Jaworzyn's albums, but it's certainly apropos here. The following track "Festival Of Lies" is more menacing and more akin to Jaworzyn's older, jittery industrial experiments, with modulated rhythms echoing beneath eerie ambient sounds and distant cries like that of an air raid siren, the track transforming into a creepy dub-flecked pulse, almost like Vatican Shadow's brand of noise-infected techno minimalism, but streaked with a ghastly, nightmarish ambience, moving through dense clouds of black flies.

��� "Gland Collector" over on the other side is something else entirely, a menacing synthesizer workout that sort of resembles some 80's era horror movie score, pulsating distorted arpeggios circling over a consistent high end drone, the whole thing just oozing with tension as it spreads out in a propulsive blur of strobing, sinister stalker drones and fierce FX-drenched synth. Sorta like Tangerine Dream on PCP, nervous and twitchy and utterly malevolent, followed by the abstract glitch-chaos of "Apocalypse", which returns to the eerie dark drones from earlier in the album but fusing them to a cascade of garbled glitchery and skittering, sputtering anti-rhythms, dark and surrealistic and disturbing, like some ultra-paranoid dystopian sci-fi soundtrack from the 80's, a fractured alien electro strung out on nerve wracking high-end frequencies.

��� Comes with a digital download that includes additional non-album material.