A "deconstructed rock" classic, 'Twin Infinitives' puts the American canon into a blender, disintegrating pop phrases with fragmented, void-walking riffs, disembodied vocals and unhinged, toothsome noise.
Neil "Michael" Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema's second Royal Trux album is their masterpiece, a lengthy, incomparable collection of loose-hinged, stream-of-consciousness expressions that seems to actively oppose any rock conventions that might be considered too coherent. They don't write songs with a particular structure, or tune their synths and guitars to a particular key, instead doing to punk, metal and pop what Captain Beefheart had done to jazz and pop a few decades earlier: pulling it apart from the fringes.
It's not easy listening, but that's the point; there are songs in there somewhere (it wouldn't work quite so well, otherwise), but they're buried in noise and wrinkled by Herrema and Hagerty's bizarre, carnivalesque groans, whistles and squeaks. They're able to lock into a groove and tire out yr senses, interrupting their riffs with bellowing horns and whistle as if they're goading listeners into hating them. 'Twin Infinitives' is one of those records that sounded confusing and utterly alien when it was released in 1990, and doesn't seem to have aged a day. One for the freaks, basically.
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A "deconstructed rock" classic, 'Twin Infinitives' puts the American canon into a blender, disintegrating pop phrases with fragmented, void-walking riffs, disembodied vocals and unhinged, toothsome noise.
Neil "Michael" Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema's second Royal Trux album is their masterpiece, a lengthy, incomparable collection of loose-hinged, stream-of-consciousness expressions that seems to actively oppose any rock conventions that might be considered too coherent. They don't write songs with a particular structure, or tune their synths and guitars to a particular key, instead doing to punk, metal and pop what Captain Beefheart had done to jazz and pop a few decades earlier: pulling it apart from the fringes.
It's not easy listening, but that's the point; there are songs in there somewhere (it wouldn't work quite so well, otherwise), but they're buried in noise and wrinkled by Herrema and Hagerty's bizarre, carnivalesque groans, whistles and squeaks. They're able to lock into a groove and tire out yr senses, interrupting their riffs with bellowing horns and whistle as if they're goading listeners into hating them. 'Twin Infinitives' is one of those records that sounded confusing and utterly alien when it was released in 1990, and doesn't seem to have aged a day. One for the freaks, basically.
A "deconstructed rock" classic, 'Twin Infinitives' puts the American canon into a blender, disintegrating pop phrases with fragmented, void-walking riffs, disembodied vocals and unhinged, toothsome noise.
Neil "Michael" Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema's second Royal Trux album is their masterpiece, a lengthy, incomparable collection of loose-hinged, stream-of-consciousness expressions that seems to actively oppose any rock conventions that might be considered too coherent. They don't write songs with a particular structure, or tune their synths and guitars to a particular key, instead doing to punk, metal and pop what Captain Beefheart had done to jazz and pop a few decades earlier: pulling it apart from the fringes.
It's not easy listening, but that's the point; there are songs in there somewhere (it wouldn't work quite so well, otherwise), but they're buried in noise and wrinkled by Herrema and Hagerty's bizarre, carnivalesque groans, whistles and squeaks. They're able to lock into a groove and tire out yr senses, interrupting their riffs with bellowing horns and whistle as if they're goading listeners into hating them. 'Twin Infinitives' is one of those records that sounded confusing and utterly alien when it was released in 1990, and doesn't seem to have aged a day. One for the freaks, basically.
A "deconstructed rock" classic, 'Twin Infinitives' puts the American canon into a blender, disintegrating pop phrases with fragmented, void-walking riffs, disembodied vocals and unhinged, toothsome noise.
Neil "Michael" Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema's second Royal Trux album is their masterpiece, a lengthy, incomparable collection of loose-hinged, stream-of-consciousness expressions that seems to actively oppose any rock conventions that might be considered too coherent. They don't write songs with a particular structure, or tune their synths and guitars to a particular key, instead doing to punk, metal and pop what Captain Beefheart had done to jazz and pop a few decades earlier: pulling it apart from the fringes.
It's not easy listening, but that's the point; there are songs in there somewhere (it wouldn't work quite so well, otherwise), but they're buried in noise and wrinkled by Herrema and Hagerty's bizarre, carnivalesque groans, whistles and squeaks. They're able to lock into a groove and tire out yr senses, interrupting their riffs with bellowing horns and whistle as if they're goading listeners into hating them. 'Twin Infinitives' is one of those records that sounded confusing and utterly alien when it was released in 1990, and doesn't seem to have aged a day. One for the freaks, basically.
A "deconstructed rock" classic, 'Twin Infinitives' puts the American canon into a blender, disintegrating pop phrases with fragmented, void-walking riffs, disembodied vocals and unhinged, toothsome noise.
Neil "Michael" Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema's second Royal Trux album is their masterpiece, a lengthy, incomparable collection of loose-hinged, stream-of-consciousness expressions that seems to actively oppose any rock conventions that might be considered too coherent. They don't write songs with a particular structure, or tune their synths and guitars to a particular key, instead doing to punk, metal and pop what Captain Beefheart had done to jazz and pop a few decades earlier: pulling it apart from the fringes.
It's not easy listening, but that's the point; there are songs in there somewhere (it wouldn't work quite so well, otherwise), but they're buried in noise and wrinkled by Herrema and Hagerty's bizarre, carnivalesque groans, whistles and squeaks. They're able to lock into a groove and tire out yr senses, interrupting their riffs with bellowing horns and whistle as if they're goading listeners into hating them. 'Twin Infinitives' is one of those records that sounded confusing and utterly alien when it was released in 1990, and doesn't seem to have aged a day. One for the freaks, basically.
A "deconstructed rock" classic, 'Twin Infinitives' puts the American canon into a blender, disintegrating pop phrases with fragmented, void-walking riffs, disembodied vocals and unhinged, toothsome noise.
Neil "Michael" Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema's second Royal Trux album is their masterpiece, a lengthy, incomparable collection of loose-hinged, stream-of-consciousness expressions that seems to actively oppose any rock conventions that might be considered too coherent. They don't write songs with a particular structure, or tune their synths and guitars to a particular key, instead doing to punk, metal and pop what Captain Beefheart had done to jazz and pop a few decades earlier: pulling it apart from the fringes.
It's not easy listening, but that's the point; there are songs in there somewhere (it wouldn't work quite so well, otherwise), but they're buried in noise and wrinkled by Herrema and Hagerty's bizarre, carnivalesque groans, whistles and squeaks. They're able to lock into a groove and tire out yr senses, interrupting their riffs with bellowing horns and whistle as if they're goading listeners into hating them. 'Twin Infinitives' is one of those records that sounded confusing and utterly alien when it was released in 1990, and doesn't seem to have aged a day. One for the freaks, basically.
A "deconstructed rock" classic, 'Twin Infinitives' puts the American canon into a blender, disintegrating pop phrases with fragmented, void-walking riffs, disembodied vocals and unhinged, toothsome noise.
Neil "Michael" Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema's second Royal Trux album is their masterpiece, a lengthy, incomparable collection of loose-hinged, stream-of-consciousness expressions that seems to actively oppose any rock conventions that might be considered too coherent. They don't write songs with a particular structure, or tune their synths and guitars to a particular key, instead doing to punk, metal and pop what Captain Beefheart had done to jazz and pop a few decades earlier: pulling it apart from the fringes.
It's not easy listening, but that's the point; there are songs in there somewhere (it wouldn't work quite so well, otherwise), but they're buried in noise and wrinkled by Herrema and Hagerty's bizarre, carnivalesque groans, whistles and squeaks. They're able to lock into a groove and tire out yr senses, interrupting their riffs with bellowing horns and whistle as if they're goading listeners into hating them. 'Twin Infinitives' is one of those records that sounded confusing and utterly alien when it was released in 1990, and doesn't seem to have aged a day. One for the freaks, basically.
Limited edition. Double silver vinyl with monochrome artwork.
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A "deconstructed rock" classic, 'Twin Infinitives' puts the American canon into a blender, disintegrating pop phrases with fragmented, void-walking riffs, disembodied vocals and unhinged, toothsome noise.
Neil "Michael" Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema's second Royal Trux album is their masterpiece, a lengthy, incomparable collection of loose-hinged, stream-of-consciousness expressions that seems to actively oppose any rock conventions that might be considered too coherent. They don't write songs with a particular structure, or tune their synths and guitars to a particular key, instead doing to punk, metal and pop what Captain Beefheart had done to jazz and pop a few decades earlier: pulling it apart from the fringes.
It's not easy listening, but that's the point; there are songs in there somewhere (it wouldn't work quite so well, otherwise), but they're buried in noise and wrinkled by Herrema and Hagerty's bizarre, carnivalesque groans, whistles and squeaks. They're able to lock into a groove and tire out yr senses, interrupting their riffs with bellowing horns and whistle as if they're goading listeners into hating them. 'Twin Infinitives' is one of those records that sounded confusing and utterly alien when it was released in 1990, and doesn't seem to have aged a day. One for the freaks, basically.