The Next Generation

When I saw the cover on this one, I laughed milk out of my nose. Look at it. Look. What the fuck are those things? Cancer cells? Testicles? Testicular cancer cells? Whatever they are, my instinct is to smack them. Smack them fucking good. And the way the bottom corner advertises the names of the artists on here – X-Noize, PsyCraft, DNA – as though these are good things? Selling points? I really wanted to smack the shit out of this cover art, and so I did, forming a small fire in the back garden with this at the centre. ‘Finally,’ thinks I, ‘I can finally concentrate on the music.’

Four minutes into Hypersonic’s Another Dimension and I was trying to set fire to myself. I managed to get my cock rammed in a jerry can full of diesel, but it wouldn’t properly catch fire and all I managed to do was singe my scrotum. A very half-hearted attempt, but at least it was a better-executed botch than track one. It starts out interesting, then gets shitter and shitter and shitter until… fuck, listen it just keeps getting shitter. I poked myself in the eye with a lit cigarette and skipped onto track two. X-Noize and Assi (who’s Assi, I wondered, before quickly realising that it doesn’t matter) with their 15,000 Micrograms. Is it 15,000 micrograms of cyanide? 15,000 micrograms of arsenic? Pleeeeease can it be arsenic? No, it’s allegedly some psychedelic but the only psychedelic this plodding excuse for ‘dance’ ‘music’ has consumed is….. See? if they can’t finish a track I see no reason to finish a fucking sentence. It’s got a melody nicked from something else. It’s tragic. It’s dreadful.

I lie on my stomach, insert a funnel into my anus and pour in a three-litre bottle of Industrial Strength Anything. PsyCraft is up next with Bad Girl. Neat excuse to get samples from pr0n in there!! Nice pr0n l33tster!!!! Unfortunately this record isn’t even pornographic. It’s sub-porn, it’s sub-bestiality, it’s sub-tubgirl. I skip to the next two tracks: both by DNA. I telephone my mother and tell her I have been arrested for having sexual intercourse with young boys. Sixteen minutes of dross pass and I am still alive. I have experienced bad vocoders, shit melodies, hardhouse peaks, glowsticks, kids at their first rave, and witnessed one tiny bit more of a collapse of the shitbeast that shits shit after shit on the shit-hungry shitpublic. Shit.

I walk around the block and kill two cats, breaking their necks open in the name of Hypersonic: this is what his music makes me want to do. I skip half-heartedly through blatant Switch-ripoff Stereo Blaster from the hugely shit Stereomatic, while sticking my wet finger in a light socket in time to the music. Briefly I sense relief, but it’s because the repeated pain I have been putting myself through has made me momentarily black out. I regain consciousness: the track is still shit. I take a fresh razor and shave a layer of cornea off both eyeballs. Another mess of keychanges and recycled shit: Hypersonic’s Lerger (sic) Than Life remixed by Karmasutrance. A valuable remix, making me fully appreciate just how shit Hypersonic is. The lyrics make Infected Mushroom’s sound like they were penned by Bob Dylan.

Still barely alive, I telephone all my ex girlfriends and ask them to be very specific indeed about my shortcomings (stop giggling at the back) and exactly what is wrong with me. It is still less painful than Enta Project’s El something, a terrifyingly crap epic. I slice my head open with a pizza cutter and replace my brain with cat litter. Skip. Onto Hypersonic’s Zuma, live at Zoom festival. This is the shittest piece of shit I have ever heard. I’m being serious here. He’s taken an allegedly live cut and added crowd cheers and applause that quite blatantly come from something else. Seriously. Maybe he sampled pop idol or something. Who does he think he is? Herbie, the gimp who lives in my basement, has never heard any music in his meagre pain-filled life, and when I removed the electrodes from his nipples and played him this even he suspected that the crowd cheering was lifted from something as seminal as Green Day Live In Some Toilet. It is purely the worst piece of music that has ever been recorded.

I mean, look, people spend so much energy bagging Infected and Skazi and while those are deserving targets of bile, Hypersonic is a deserving target of knives. Sharp ones. I reach into my stomach and pull out my intestines, causing (1) a terrible mess on the carpet and (2) a knock on the door from a housemate, concerned at the smell, the noise, or possibly both. I somehow manage to get through Magnetica’s uniquely uninspiring The Gedi. As the track finally spunks its identikit last, the loss of blood is finally catching up with the chemical imbalance from all that industrial anything floating around in my colon. I collapse, start to black out, and in my final dying moment I manage to eject this dreadful waste of whatever it is they use to make CD’s, hold a lighter to it, and burn it. Utterly terrible. Please fuck off.

- 1,000,000