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The Original Article in Italian:
The Internet's Automated Translation:
HOT HEAD SHOW - The Lemon LP
There are those who live and who rejoices in the excess of reflection, who goes to school in style and those who copy the style if the task as a class, are not sophistry low market, but it is the finding of complicity and how alive the 'need to have all the costs need to be heroic or erotic "like" better "than" and stronger than "that other", to resemble in all respects to "the body and inspiring "in all shapes and sauces, the Hot Head Show , British band - which militates Jordan, son of the famous Stewart Copeland - dedicated to surrealism acrobatic funk-blues version of the Isosceles, if this n'escono The Lemon LP , eleven asymmetric traces that seem alive and silver extracted in robbery Ballardian band Les Claypool , Primus, and imprinting is a total and dehumanizing of this training, but it does not seem to bother Clay Boss, indeed, is something enthusiastic so that if you aggregate them behind in a never-ending tour.
Jordan Copeland on guitar, Beatamax on drums and Vaughn Strokes are the devil down to four as a duty and mission to headbang-blooded masses of stinging Funkettomani spring with their jerky rhythms - never wave - that puts fire in the adrenal veins, rowdy, Technical and anarchists, epic, cross, and so crooked caciaroni distant from schizophrenia resurrect Zappa , the HHS invest all their white-hot in a vacuum gigionesco toss the balance in a stereo tracking epileptic extensions and retreats of the blood that makes you fat, a vein of eccentricity that gulps down everything psychedelic, funk, Kiedis of Red Hot Chili Peppers , guitars and wah wah increased in the seventh, the nineties and the prancing circus sprogrammato of G Love & Special Sauce, microparticles of diseases vaudevilliane Waitsiane and here and there - such as waste production - clippings Police and Soul Coughing , in short, a food that crosses with wild-eyed look and all the essential steps and progression of skill that only the champion - even if the skin super scripts - know how to baste.
Certainly not fail to to break - between the eaters of those imperfections to hammer sound - the exciting Latin-funk robotic commingling the Talking Heads ( " Bummer " ), the oddities of cacophonous crazy-clubbing ( " Hotel Room " ), from the blues drip " Whats Goes Round " , " Ritalin " or "Donkey" , or - to consider the art of music as a benefit to climb fast and painless with surrealism to the square - a nice little grebe among the "shock absorbers" to live a low divine harmony which is to shoulder an even more majestic " Blessed polynomial ", and then along this band is the least fall in love unashamedly.
Claypool has seen well, the heirs have appointed them, and them, these three scoundrels zompettanti Londoners do not want to redeem themselves and forget to take the step "longer than the leg," the rest are "hot heads" and the show is in their DNA, and no one will make us shit! Thank goodness.
(Max Sannella)
