Twisted, sinister, and as vicious as a wolverine, the Cuban-American Schirach decimates everything you know about Booty Bass, the Dirty South, IDM, and Ghetto Tech flattening their edifice while rebuilding them with corrupt, artful even straight-up beastly replicants. Otto’s laptop is his laboratory, where aural animals are spliced, recombined, and mutated beyond recognition. Imagine RZA taking OxyContin, DJ Shadow in a K-Hole, or Morton Subotnick conducting a gearhead orchestra.
Like King Tubby, Schirach is a master of suspense. You’re never quite sure when the train will switch tracks. Stonking, manic beat patterns might instantly disappear into ambient fuzz only to return moments later inverted, backwards and stupefied. Schirach’s creative obsession is only topped by his technical detail. Bass tones crack foundations, arpeggios splinter ceiling tiles and busted-speaker beats will have you dashing to the hi-fi shop.
Guest appearances from asthmatic MC’s along side with ghoulish interludes and empty space turn Chopped Zombie Fungus into an experience through an electronic psychedelic underworld. Spindly snakes squirm from speakers. Collapsing corpuscular chords crunch cones. Twitching twisted twirls tweak tweeters. Reinforcing speaker stands before playing is advised.
Although under constant multilateral surveillance, you can put aside any worries that you may have incurred for Dr. Von Schirach has only the best interests of the human race at heart: to push all sonic boundaries to the edge, implode the funk, and stand back while art splatters skulls. Hold onto something.
