[Reviewed by: Iaha Crax]
A black-coloured tape enters the machine. Choirs, drums, glitches, dirt. Patience makes eyes and heart to accept and see further. And body to suffer extrovertly. As Mrs. Watanabe requests it. His music makes teeth to squash and intestine to rumble. He takes movements to a place of wonder, where one take on probability becomes another question on abnormality. The tape released by Mahorka Records from Bulgaria bears two tracks each for each side half an hour long.
Watanabe plays dance floor cabaret music under the motto Res, non verba. It is noisy popularly traceable industrial rave that loses its potency when swept into gangrenous mud-saturated ambient grievance. And then gains suddenly a feverish tonic presence where stain and glass are given voice into a tenebrous soundscape. His collages are strangely discordant and favour annoying acts of self-amusement, but this is a common sensation if you rest at the surface of a primitive industrial record. Take the courage to descend into the raucous dump and these rhythms will may have the anticipated impact on you. They could be anything what you wanna be.
But, revenons à nos moutons, it is better to sheep the wolves into a supermarket on these sounds, than to buy a beer at your local grocery store. Risum teneatis.
Mrs. Watanabe – Mixtape A