Paint and colours abound. Bits of text slapped down atop pictures kidnapped from elsewhere; the intrusive outside pokes its head through open windows, blending and merging with a sermon or narrative that tries to slither above babbling radio stations and the noises that congregate around a microphone left on to capture them. There are songs in the centre of Spirit World Circle Jerk, and like a boat navigating its course through a torrential storm, the journey of The Ceramic Hobs tilts and sways as commotion and interference offset their intentions – their anaerobic, back-room punk steams onward regardless of conflict, and instead of fighting for an intangible clarity in amongst the din, the band triumph by throwing the doors open and taking everything – colliding ideologies, colliding musical directions – under their command.
I can imagine amplifier stacks toppling as “T.A Death” announces the inevitable collapse of side A, as barbs of fizzy blues solo writhe out of the persistent onward drive and voices gargle alcohol, helplessly trying to push back on the walls as the outside thickens and presses inward. Meanwhile, the 20 minutes of “Voodoo Party” builds as a junkyard tribe of percussion and revving engines, as saxophones and a nearby party spill in from either side, with noise welling up in every room like the Trout Mask Replica house; sound is happening all the time and in every direction, and while the ball of chants and guitar splinters at the centre makes the most muscular grasp for my attention, I am set spinning by a sound world constantly rattling through motions; a 360 chaos pressing its many tongues against my head, where isolated focal points simply do not exist.