Mondo Generator, The Hi-Fi
Methed up and barely intelligible, Nick Oliveri* is a gangling collection of violent angles, popped eyeballs and hollow sockets: a shiv wielding, blood sweating cock and roll maverick.
Eschewing stagecraft and concentrating exclusively on the jugular, Oliveri and the latest iteration of the mighty, fashion negative Mondo Generator subject the Hi-Fi to a ruthless, sprawling set of ballistic takes on early Queens material (he was on the good albums, he wryly reminds us) and the staccato, ragged desert punk of the three or so Mondo albums to date.
Like lots of good things, this one pulsed and gushed like a stuck artery; volcanic, big sky stoner instrumentals surged into loose, furious, elemental shots of spiky, uncut adrenaline.
A masterclass in take no prisoners authenticity, relentless encore followed relentless encore, like being kerb stomped, and then, just as abruptly, they were gone.
(* The strides stayed on.)
© Garth Jones, 2008.