FALOODA – Demo 2024 EP

Greek band Falooda bill themselves as “a noise funk dessert with rose syrup, vermicelli, milk and sweet basil seeds”. If that doesn’t quite make sense from an outsider’s perspective, then it’s with very good reason. This self-titled download – serving as the band’s first demo – is absolutely batshit bonkers. It’s a recording that presents a band absolutely throwing themselves head first into a world of distortion, mangling all manner of influences into the ugliest of shapes. It’s scary, and yet, it’s also fascinating.

They really don’t believe in giving their potential audience any time to acclimatise, either. ‘Orizuru’ opens with a lop-sided post punk riff, which lasts all of about two bars before the punchy sound falls into a strange carny inspired melody, before returning to its original remit for another two bars. Having bemused the unsuspecting listener, Faloosa then embark on a wall of sound that applies an early Melvins-esque tone to a hardcore riff, before everyone decides it’s all change once more and a bit of a doom riff creeps in. There are about five abrasive moods here, somehow wedged into under two minutes. They all appear to be at odds with each other, leaving the vocal with the unenviable job of being the artistic glue that holds everything together. Frontman Loverman sobs and yelps like someone amid a breakdown set to the most angular slice of noise rock ever, but somehow, his anger works with the ever changing backdrop to create something appealing.

Taking a similarly no holds barred approach, ‘Bottleneck’ applies militaristic drumming (courtesy of Luku Luku Miu Miu) to bits of hardcore punk that sound like old Dead Kennedys tunes reworked by one of Mike Patton’s most obtuse projects. In and out in seventy five seconds, it barely gives the listener time to focus on anything other than its relentless speed and rhythm, before it segues straight into ‘Disaster Recovery’, a four minute noise collage of clattering drums and screams that sounds like something your favourite Melvins side project would use to fill up the end of a disc.

The recording’s best track, ‘Boolean Religion’ gives a much clearer insight into how well Falooda can play. Stretching out into a more groove laden arrangement, the track crashes forth with a hefty rhythm, and guitarist Themis Vasilou presents a whole world of rockabilly guitar twang. This quickly sets up a melody that sounds like an old Duane Eddy tune reworked by ‘Slates’ era Fall. In record time, this actually shows that Falooda are capable of delivering a semi-accessible, hard driving sound. In typical style, they’re not about to make it quite that easy for their potential audience, of course, and any relative melody is offset by another vocal where Loverman launches into his best Pere Ubu influenced yelp. His absolutely manic voice lurches back and forth, smothering the very angular riffs with sounds that convey a genuine instability, and although the lyrics are in English, most of the time, the message is inaudible. The voice effectively becomes extra instrumentation, and it continually attacks in a way that makes The Jesus Lizard’s more obtuse sounds feel as accessible as a ‘Bossanova’ era Pixies. As the noise continues, the rockabilly elements are broken up by a heavier, angular slab of post-punk riffing and an occasional oddness that sound like Primus guitarist Larry Lalonde either warming up or breaking down. With a tiny nod to a doom riff or two, along with moments that are reinforced further by Manolo’s bass, there’s a hint that this band could launch into a juggernaut sized riff at any second. That would be too easy. Instead, they decide to fade out with a wall of grinding bass sounds and a full accompaniment of Morse-like feedback.

This shouldn’t work. It challenges more than it entertains. Its sharper edges are absolutely brutal and any tightly wound rhythms are more about aggro than groove. And yet, there’s something here that’s often great; a raw recording that shares four slices of noise worthy of an Amphetamine Reptile release circa 1998, or something buried deep within the Alternative Tentacles vaults. Sometimes, Falooda barely even make music, but their absolute confidence in their abilities to make a truly abrasive noise is so impressive, you just can’t help but be swept along with their cacophonous sounds. The major labels aren’t about to knock on their door, obviously, but this is the kind of DIY racket that deserves to take Bandcamp by storm.

April 2024

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