With song titles like [B]'All Sing Like Bird In Cat's Mouth'[/B], [B]Black September[/B] really should be soundtracking the opening credits to [I]jam[/I]...

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Black September

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Black September

With song titles like ‘All Sing Like Bird In Cat’s Mouth’, Black September really should be soundtracking the opening credits to [I]jam[/I]. Sure, ‘Black September’ is as uncomfortable, as unforgivingly tasteless as the dystopic psychedelic nightmares that Chris Morris pedals as entertainment. But sadly, it’s in no way as compelling.

Black September are Geoff Read and Mark Black, a pair of world-weary musicians united in the pursuit of something grisly, and on this, their debut album, they seem to have found it. Recorded over the past three years in studios from Liverpool to Tokyo, ‘Black September’ is proper deviant music, a misshapen hybrid of lo-fidelity folk and septic, sludgy indie-rock – and it’s every bit as uninviting as that sounds. ‘Glass Car’ is like being snogged by a drunken, vomit-spattered Nick Cave, Geoff Read’s groggy baritone drifting in and out of key over shrieking organs, the production as clean as a back-alley abortion. There are rare gems amid the sewage – see the sinister strum of ‘Salt’, or the dispassionate whispers of Mitsuko, a Japanese avant-garde performer who guests on ‘Learning Silence’. But these moments are scarce.

The lingering memory of ‘Black September’ is of Read dourly inviting us to, “Suck my breast as if I feed you/Put two fingers in my womb” on ‘Hook/Limestone’. Perhaps that appeals to you. Meanwhile, we’re off to scrub ourselves down.