FungalPunk reviews Countdown to a Breakdown
VIKI VORTEX & THE CUMSHOTS – COUNTDOWN TO A BREAKDOWN
The last time I reviewed this lot involved a rummage in the rhythmic knicker draw to satisfy my devilishly keen sonic sexual appetite. I fiddled and diddled here and there and prodded my assessing member in this opening and that one too and yet…I came away a little frustrated. You see my todge of evaluation is a temperamental bugger to please and it won’t stand rigid for long if it can see potential not being tapped. The dome deflates with depression, the shaft sags under the weight of flaccid disappointment but never fear…seeds of persuasion still trickle forth from the oriental eye of passion and a good old critical prod is never far away (and always done in the best possible taste). So here we are again, back for a mooch but this time beneath the mattress of melody, under the four poster of acoustic fuckage – I am prepared, the throb begins, will it remain.
I crouch, reach out, fumble in the dark! Splash, is that a pisspot I have knocked over – bastard – never mind, well, well well, what is this first delight I have my hands on? A trembler known as ‘Countdown To A Breakdown’, a song that gives a good initial wobble factor and is thrusted harder by a whooshing strum zest. As soon as the tuned article is switched on the life it imparts within ones private zones is blatant and I am all a quiver as I let the noisy delights thrive within my erogenous receptors. The eagerness of the players is apparent within the buzzed essence of the song, the girly tones of the front lass screech and slide with relish and add a winning element that makes the end product appealing. A nice thrill, that could lead to a spill, unless the routine gets over done. I switch off, things are going too far.
The damp patch is avoided, I squirm further, the next tuned titivator I come across goes by the name of ‘Window Shopping’, a more bass driven song with extra bitch squeals – ooh err missus. This one is laden with impecunious ideology that rises above the penniless state and dreams on. Look but don’t touch – a voyeuristic dream – a tuneful tit mag to be ogled at, not splashed on. The structure is simplistic, the running time adequate but…oh dear the squeeze is here…the band are not pushing hard enough I feel and despite some flamboyant 4 wire wobbles and a sound structure I feel the crew are getting knotted in the own knickers instead of ripping them right off and baring their asses of potential. Hey, reviewing and congratulating is all well and good and this is far from crud but, and another big but at that (with one ‘t’ and no gluteus but plenty of maximus), one has to get the best out of these tuned twiddlers and here is my humble attempt. Good but can, and will (if I have my way), do better!
I toss the rhythm rag aside, I look for one last tingle, it comes via the musical panties daubed with the words ‘Radio’s Dead’, another similar stroke, with usual thoughts aroused. I sniff harder, I pull the melodic material taut and examine carefully. These are sturdy draws with yet another strong gusset within the thread and yet I am asking for more – do my perverse delights know no bounds? I like the dig at the arse weary airwaves, I like the transparency of the message and the consistency throughout but I won’t be denied my prod and poke – nudge, nob, niggle. Nifty but more niftiness required please.
Red faced, flustered, not fully satiated – I stand up, dust down, dab at the piss patch and leave the room. I think I have been fair, appreciative and persuasive – this is a neat little unit who, like a nest of anal bees, need a little coaxing to produce some extra tasty honey. I am happy to be the one to dip in a decisive digit and take the chance at getting the maximum potential out of this crew – it may get me cobbled, nobbled or considered – I can but try. Next stop a ‘live’ gig – now then watch for the review – I will be keen to see what transpires!