with the vision of addison and steele, as useful as a gazateer and a handy atlas, heralding a calamitous beauty similar to ahab and stubb, with the strength of dunechka and the faith of sonechka, likely imbued with holy joie de vivre by bacchus’ own nysiads, possessing a lineage on par with sheafson and hrothgar, as majestic in their combined undertakings as magellan and elcano, heck … if one were to take equal parts jane goodall and lhamo döndrub and spin their dna with a splash of schopenhauer’s mischief, husserl’s detachment, crick’s mind-shattering reach, and watteau’s skill in rendering the liminal and lush beauty we humans drift past whilst grinding nose in thought and work…

aye, what is to be said about the happy flowers other than the fact that mr. anus and mr. horribly-charred-infant [mr. hci] formed a band in ye olde virgina state back ‘round 1983 which went on to thunderously reopen “american music” beyond the mere primal scream and equally prevalent bubbly tactics of “popular” offerings at the time, thereby inoculating a now-fetid populous with a sort of satori … id est creating a tapestry wherein humans felt anew synæsthesia, and herein chomsky’s referents are not obscured by the fallacy that is “words”. now, while the hoi poloi were tuning their dials and ears towards unintelligible growling and shrieking or cooing and drippy voice-noodlings, mr. anus and mr. hci set forth to channel and then telegraph capital-E Emotions that are known to all. there is no false idol proffered here, there is no soul-fakery in an attempt to increase demographic appeal, they worked tremendously hard to distill their sound and lyrics into the most succinct and codified truths and realities of our human condition.

there is no doubt that their entire archive will reawaken parts of your being long dormant and purposefully shuttered.

offered to you, my fine readers, is their song let’s eat the baby, from the seminal album oof.