Racebannon

This is a sad, intestine and soul-twisting story of someone (like everyone) who yearns to be in the glamorous spotlight that is fame. The story: Rodney Mitchell fears living in obscurity and Darwinistically does not have the goods to propel him to another absurd realm of existence - meaning success as we know it in this modern day. He makes a deal with the devil and is turned into Rhonda Delight, superstar princess of the stage and microphone. Well, drugs and Darwin come in again and she fucks up. The Devil takes her away. The end. Loud and scratchy guitars, Melt Banana-esque hundredth triplet chugs, LSD neuron death flashes and constipated metallic punk cartoon chaos. Sometimes it might seem that those don't go hand in hand (the story, music and this review), but that is what makes Racebannon so special. Plus, they are from Bloomington, where people supposedly act normal. But this is great heavy shit, perfect for us arty advanced lovers of heavy music with an inclination towards being black sheep but can still appreciate good humour. They are our saviours, but have they themselves sold out to the devil?