"Kill all noise artists! We hate Whitehouse. Piss off N.W.W. Asshole C 93. Suck P.T.V. Fuck Coil. We love disco sound." should be on a t-shirt - maybe it already is! When i first heard this blasting from a cassette recorded copy that my buddy Jason had jammed into his dilapidated truck I realized one thing really quickly: this was punk. Against the grain of all things sane and non-scatological, Hanatarashi extended themselves a mutated shit fist and I grabbed onto it and gave myself multiple concussions by listening to them, over and over and over. Non-stop. I made cd-r and cassette copies of their material and a hundred other pieces of 'Japanoise' and handed them out at weak parties in hopes of confusing the expensively dressed unsmiling guests. I don't think it worked.

The noise, you know (especially in its higher forms), is a scientific affair. If all of the more extreme forms of rock could coalesce into a frenzied and shiny madness, amplified by hundreds layers of pure sonic power, the only monstrosity that could come out is the second Lp of Hanatarash. By themselves the goal was prohibitive: overcome the devastation and the quality of a first album that can be rightly regarded as the "Jeffrey Dahmer of garbage". But as the sage teachs, there is just something else endless than universe and human stupidity, the folly of Yamatsuka Eye. And like all great composers of our century,he managed to give birth to the mountain, in my humble opinion the everest of japanoise,towering a swamp of chitterlings, trash, radioactive slags and mutilated corpses who floating on a river of amniotic fluid. On "2" there are no breaks or time-outs: you're immediately catapulted inside a prison riot,and your role is the guard. Eighteen fists on face that reduce to mush the idea that you had previously of "heavy". As often happens, the beautiful game is short and the standouts are the micro-tracks of few seconds, true sonic frostbites of unbelievable beauty(the triad "We Bite Bollocks- Frog Girl 90000- Detroit Rock City") even if the two real "songs"(a word that loses all meaning in this album) with a seven minutes media ("My Dad Is Car - Gang Nuts Gum") are superb, although more muddy and crawling, but a pair of twins that will give you to sweat. In this trip you can't recognize nothing: guitars?tapes?screams?engines?industrial?no-wave?electronics?,my god,it's a vain hope: you can only see the word NO! stamped everywhere,and add the suffix you prefer to this type of "music" that i personally love over the top. There is only a thing to do before death will do us part: buy this beast on vinyl, put it underglass and hire a digger to destroy your home. And remember to eat 'n vomit this shit noize music,and especially DON'T LISTEN TO THIS RECORD!!.