Ross Birchard is a man of many, many talents, but subtly is absolutely not one of them. Hudson Mohawke’s second album is essentially one exhilarating and impassioned 48 minute scream, it has its hands in the air and a whistle in its mouth, chewing his cheeks so hard that blood drips from its mouth as it swears it can see God in the club lights. Listening to ‘Lantern’ (especially on headphones) shakes your brain so comprehensively, so aggressively hyperactively, that the pure milk of your synapses are churned into the most beautiful cheese, yet always with its arm tight around your shoulder as its sweaty lips kiss your cheek. Even quieter (‘quieter’ being extremely loosely used here) songs like ‘Warriors‘ crescend so spectacularly that you’re taken to heaven, while ‘Portrait of Luci‘ initially tricks you into believing you can have a lie down, before you realise you’ve been sold a massive red herring as you’re soon swerved onto your feet again. Perhaps wary that his Kanye West collaborations may have had people pencil him in as a purely hip-hop artist, here Hudson overcompensates thrillingly by dipping his toe into every other genre of music. I’m sorry to use such a tired and cliched phrase, but this kind of fun can’t be legal.
‘Fun’ Fact: Given his birth date, Ross must have been conceived on May 11th 1985. The date of the Bradford Fire. There’s some freaky parents.
Mate, mate, mate, mate! I love you man, like, I really fucking love you! Come here and give me a hug! I think ‘Scud Books‘ should keep your current feeling going nicely.
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