EARTH SLIME (vinyl - 33T)

Description

Guitars lashing the asphalt, soulful vocals slightly out of tune, untouchable melodies. In other words: big magic on the water, boss, watch out. The outcome, however, we know all too well: a hellish, sublime, incandescent record, and six months later the band explodes in mid-air, leaving us chattering, alone, for 20 years. But actually, no. After reminding us that they were the band that had moved the epicenter of cool back to the 18th arrondissement, "Catholic Spray" drops their unexpected second album onto a tarmac crushed by the heat, where mongoloid and stainless refrains speed along, sometimes pushing a little harder and with more confidence on the pedal, just to emphasize the point and confirm the driving progress made in two years. No panic, however: the band still drives without a license and with both eyes blindfolded, guided by the snotty voices of Cyprien and Pierre, who sing as one progresses against the wind, telling crumbs of nothing much, never anything but stories of penniless guys who'd like to smoke a cigarette and find a piece of ass, underage if need be. The kind of guy who, when he bumps into you, transmits his whole life to you, like a disease. Crushed into a thousand infectious clots, "Earth Slime" nevertheless sees "Catholic Spray" leave the swamps of their first record, where the band sweated amidst a swirl of insects, to embark on the path of lords, clad in chrome and rags, now ready to bash the universe at 100% of their capabilities. And too bad if the wall of fatality and the hot hours of losing await them at the end of the race, because at this very precise moment, they are speeding towards eternity while the ruins of the Pitchfork Nation calcify and fester under the burning sun. Lelo Jimmy Batista