Third Mall From the Sun


David Thrussel is a funny guy. He takes the names for his records from Bill Hicks. He puts graphs of the amounts of wry observations, caustic charm, and bleak wit. He uses faux political posters in his artwork. It’s good that he has this sense of humor, because it separates him from his excessively serious Electronic Body Music peers. Is that term outdated yet? It should be. Anyway, most of all, he is an excellent musician. He combines noisy sampledelic collage with complex beats to make something wholly different. If there were a direction for the field that Mr. Thrussel operates in to go, I would like it to be this one. He combines energy, intelligence and an understanding of how to make even the densest song really catchy. The lyrics rise above cringe-worthy to occasionally attaining the rank of good. From “Late Twentieth Century Boy”: “there’s nothing that’ll move ya/ there’s plenty to be bought/there’s no kind of mystery/ there’s no new thought/tied up in your neurotic knots/ airhead celebrities that’s all you got.” However, by the end of the record, his fierce assault on consumerist culture and overbearing government becomes somewhat wearing. Yes Mr. Thrussel, we understand that McDonald’s screwed up your order one too many times, there’s no need to take it out on us. However, that is only a minor trifle with an otherwise excellent disc. Well, that and the annoying ballad.

Metropolis Records, P.O. Box 54307, Philadelphia, PA 19105;

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