BiographyOmaha = Interzone…Praising the lord in the Church of G.
Starts with a dried out hum, some base churning industrial howling, catch a little clipped loop, then it just…goes. 19 + Sterile documents the classic line-up (at least classic to me) of Church of Gravitron: Mario, Ethan and Justin, nice guys, the kind of guys you want to share a pint of Cutty Sark with in the back of a sweltering fishing van debating recent editorial changes over at Leg Show (sheer pantyhose are for real sickos).
Omaha, it always makes me think of heat, no one there has a/c and the heat is always this degree of oppression hanging in the air. The heat is ectoplasm, just like noise. Though to be fair this isn’t really noise, at least not that Day-Glo laptop party shit that passes for it these days, as bad as mask-rock that crap. Leave noise to true basement creeps, sleeping on rotting furniture. This is My Bloody Valentine sans all the boring parts (vocals, tunes, all other instruments). Church of Gravitron is more intergalactic dis-function. In space everything is broken and fucked-up and the only way to deal with the hellish emptiness it set all the engines to “burned-out-the-sun”. Soon the amp sound becomes like an insatiable mouth, an eating machine, grinding up all the landscape in its path and that’s comforting.
If you ever saw these guys, which likely you didn’t, but if you had seen them, all three were standing in a line, only Ethan was facing out, Mario and Justin giving you their backs, a little scrap of paper of the floor with three notes written on, the set-list, the one song. Epic, awesome and now you can hold a little bit of it in your ears too.
The only possible gripe is this disc isn’t one of a dozen, all at seventy minutes plus, so you can load up the cd changer in yr trunk, park the car out front and just let the long hot daze drift by, C of G all blaring. Praise the lord and pass the Natty Ice, I can still feel.
-Chris Besinger, Minneapolis, June 2010