CD Review – Count Vesuvius – Self Titled
By Andrew Flanagan
A wholly useless, unnecessary, and associative review of Count Vesuvius’ debut, self-titled, sledgehammering, and probably only album that will ever exist unless not:
Mud and musk. Somewhere a reptoid diplomat plots. We felt a witch watching through tippy-toes. And mermaids sing so beautiful, muffled in bubbles. An elk takes flight and crashes rack-first into fuzzy halo while two drummer boys in het Nederland throw their sticks down, harmonize in whistle, and skip down a street at dusk fully in love. Swamp Thing pines lost love. Lower-level sorcerers get stoned in a spire. Wicked-jacked shit.
Found from the 5th result in a “Count Vesuvius” Google, a web board post by Calutrongirl: “…the count will blow your mind straight out of you [sic] eye balls. you will scrape it up with your plastic cup, hoping – in vain – to be able to return it to its origin, for invariably, even if you managed to somehow get it back in you would still be listening to count vesuvius, and thus your brain would – again – be completely forced from your eye sockets.” Count Vesuvius are catch-22’s and fiberglass-mask you up and squeaky down. Unless you can reach the off button or the tone arm with those blown-out eyeballs and that rocketed brain dangling out of your face holes.
Their album is available from them at a bar.
Filed under: Misc.
