Hi, everyone. Another blog for you. Send music shit to [ fosterhildingmusic@gmail.com ] or DM me on Instagram.
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| photos stolen from band's instagram. |
I'm so excited to review this album. It snuck onto my phone somehow in the midst of Instagram scrolling and story reposts. It is dark, absurdly heavy, and completely relentless. I didn't even know who Coquette was before this, but now they are permanently on my radar, eyes watching heavy and forever. my six shooter... is crazy shit.
my six shooter... foams over short delays and lonesome strings, pumping drums and obscured samples following their path unto mathy goodness betrayed by sacrilegious violence and gravel chants. Halfway through, we get this break down that just cracks us right down the middle with an axe. Absolutely splitting. It's so simple, yet fucking destroys us with these intense lows and burning panic chords. A breakdown rhythm for a scorned king, slowing to the pace of his fattened steps.
i watched you die one thousand four hundred sixty times starts in jabbering noodles, like a soundcheck that wades on and on in front of an annoyed and waiting audience. We bolt into jumping circus psycho two step hardcore jargon before cycling blast beats pull us back into their destructive noise and a second long chug.
17 counts of vehicular homicide tears through your ears without waiting, frothing at the mouth like a rabid mosher before spraying us with a dichotomy of elephant chugs and vulture highs. "The easy way out / Never seemed so appealing" echoes over its final efforts.
interlude. Up until this point in the project, I didn't really have a problem with the production. It was rough, almost drowning in its own compressed noise and fuzz, but this short interlude blasts through with a distinct clarity not shared by its album's companions. In that way, it feels a bit out of place, yet is still so fucking sick. It's messy, like running through channels on a broken FM radio, picking up distress signals from a distant alien conquest. It somehow fits perfectly.
fourfiftyone is breakdown masturbation from its first second. Like kneeling to a false prophet, it is sonic blaspheme but oh so good. We return to our 2/4 while a sadistic voice reminds us, "You just have value, I don't love you." We groove on stereotypical jazz for less than a moment, then destroy all of history in atonal chugs and these monster swinging kicks.
i am a well oiled machine (and you are no longer my god) sprinkles gibberish and a multitude of clacking refrains before another breakdown. At this point in listening through again, these breakdowns hit less and less hard and start to become stale, but Coquette makes up for it in this insane transition into manic destruction that leaves no room for life between their distortion.
'twas merely my rifle starts as an ode to some black metal fantasy. I see knights in losing battles against perilous odds, creatures of unimaginable strength and being. "I'm so sorry" tears us away from our delusions of grandeur as the song, itself, disintegrates into dust--only feedback, screams, and sparse splatters of tired drums left to rely on now.
I always have a lot of fun listening to this album. Coquette's debut has only proved their worth as a band and as individual musicians, masters in disgust and willing to none. It should force all eyes to watch carefully. Check it out.
7.5/10
Stream my six shooter....
-Foster
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