���� "No Wave", my ass. While this trio might be paying lip service to Arto Lindsay's crew of anti-rock miscreants and the legendary 1978 compilation No New York, this outfit goes way beyond rock-deconstruction and into the realm of total city-destroying cacophony. It's one of the first releases from this trio of Japanese noise vets, made up of Fumio Kosakai (C.C.C.C., Incapacitants, Hijokaidan), Kimihide Kusafuka (K2) and experimental drummer/pianist Eiko Ishibashi, a nearly two hour performance recorded live in 2014, with four separate pieces spread across the two cassettes.

���� When this starts off, the group crafts a stunning soft-focus vista of distant, glimmering sunkissed drones and sonic shimmer, a gorgeous dawnbreak driftscape that stretches across several minutes of that first untitled track. Once they step on the pedal, though, the sound suddenly erupts into an apocalyptic squall of distorted low-end drone and fearsome, air-raid like blasts of feedback, a gradually thickening maelstrom of thunderous guitar noise and mighty percussive rumblings. The recording is murky and overdriven and blown out, huge chunks of it resembling some of the more aggressive, amplifier-melting Skullflower or Ramleh material. And from there it continues to grow into a deafening jet-roar of freeform noise, a dense, ever-shifting mass of psychedelic electronics and brutal guitar skree, as mind-melting as anything I've heard from Kosakai's work in C.C.C.C. and Hijokaidan. An epic-length din of malfunctioning heavy machinery, malevolent robotics and corrosive electronics, swept up in a storm of effects-pedal fueled delirium.

���� The other three tracks are similarly extreme and challenging, but each offers its own distinct pursuit of aural obliteration. The group moves through more of those bass-drenched dronescapes and blasts of clattering junknoise into titanic grinding loops that roll across their smog-choked wastelands like the amplified chug of a halftrack, intensely heavy assaults of distorted rhythmic sound that stretch infinitely outward. Bits of fractured, atonal musicality appear in the cracks between their deafening blasts of noise, hints of melody or humanity that are quickly devoured by the gnashing, ravenous noise-loops that Kusafuka unleashes throughout the set. And on the third side, the group hammer out a half-hour blast of shambling scuzz-rock improvisation that almost begins to evoke some of that old NYC skronk-punk attitude, but buries the meandering drumming, clanging guitars, super-abrasive fretboard scrape and go-nowhere bass-lines underneath a hill of howling, hiss-drenched noise. Exhausting, but awesome.

���� Packaged in a molded clamshell case ad issued in a limited edition of one hundred twenty-five copies.