Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks (CD)
The Rapture formed in the spring of '98. With a keen ear toward visionaries such as PIL, Television, Chrome, and the Happy Mondays, they've formed a reputation for energetic, chaotic live sets of sonic deathfuck groove. They combine all that's great about English and American post-punk. The dubby bass and propagandistic bellow of Gang of Four, the angular guitar of Richard Lloyd, the slack-jawed ramblings of Mark E. Smith -- these guys have got it all.
| Tracklisting | |
| Disk | 1 | |
| 1 | Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks |
| 2 | Modern Romance |
| 3 | Carvan |
| 4 | The Jam |
| 5 | The Pop Song |
| 6 | Confrontation |
| Chad Allen
- Renton, WA, USA |
| This is a great album. Mix the Angular Propensities of Gang of Four with the artsy structure of Talking Heads and throw in a little guitar dissonance ala Fugazi in their Repeater era, and that adds up to one good record. A force to be reckoned with in the coming decade for sure. | |
| Gus Shaloo
- New York City (sic), NY, USA |
| Speaking of cellophane/shrinkwrap, these guys steal a lot from This Heat.....I don't know how this gets by unnoticed. They also rip direct vocal/melody lines from PIL a la "Careering". "The forerunners of the post-punk revival"!? FUCK. Come on....it's not that hard to ape rough trade-cum-factory records....the 12" dance single is SUCH a beat idea too, boys & girls. If you enjoy music that is calculated on all levels...this is for you. Ladies and Gentlemen, it's the "Disco Strokes". | |
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| Kyle Birkenstock
- Utopia, AZ, USA |
| These guys are getting a lot of credit for being 2nd rate rip-off artists. No vision, no soul....just take the production on this EP for an example....there is no bottom, the grooves are super weak, and these boys can't sing or scream...it just sounds like complete shit. At least bands such as the afformentioned Gang of Four (tired comparison) and even early PIL had the screamed/spoken/sung vocal style down to an effective focus....Luke and Matty are two arrgoant little pricks who just yell and shreik. Groupies and johnny come lately art-scenesters might ador them, but I think their whole thing just stinks...and you can see through it like fucking cellophane. | |
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