Frog Eyes

This only thing I can liken this disc to is one of those nightmares you have where you wake up thinking, "wow... was that ever freaky, but damn was it cool." Half young Bowie, half Nick Cave and one half like no one you've ever heard are Carey Mercer's vocals, which were the highlight of my life as I was listening to this. I know that equals one-and-a-half, but this is one-and-a-half times your average CD! Amidst a noisy, screwed up yet quite pleasingly tuneful musical style is Mercer. From the outset, the sense of urgency in his crackling sweet pipes beckons you and sucks you in, and there is a longing quality to them that digs right down deep and appeals to the wounded in all of us. Bits and pieces of post-punk and art-rock blend with a completely unique sound to create a strange dichotomy of the new and the old. At times, you get the feeling that this album has been around for 25 years and only now has had the dust blown off it, yet there is a very current edge to the songwriting and the coherent arrangement of all the instrumental chaos. My Bloody Hand is a record that is better heard than described.