_Dédale_is divided into two "sides", 15 minutes and 20 minutes respectively, but it's really meant to be a single scathing rage jam. Sure, there are different musical ideas banging around inside the continuous noise romp, but each grows out of its predecessor naturally, like a stinking, spore-shedding fungus. Speed trades off with lethargic crunching and bubbly bespectacled improv bits, so there's variety; and yet every moment seems designed to grind your sanity away by sheer force of willful sonics.

The recording buries itself in that unfriendly nexus where noise rock meets jazz and metal. Guitars peel away layers of undamaged brain tissue with their unrelenting dissonance, both low and screechingly high. The drummer throws perpetual tantrums behind the kit and might even be trying to piss off his own bandmates. The processed screams exploding through the mike cords lend the situation some small humanity, and the bassist doesn't seem to know he's playing in a heavy band, thumping away in his own little world most of the time. The musicians stick together through the entire half-hour, though, and the material never quite disintegrates into utter madness.

But if _Dédale_ were any longer, yours truly would be a broken man lying in puddles of unrecognizable body fluids and whining about dictatorial alien corporations thrumming away right under your goddamn feet, man...