Racial Golf Course No Bitches

about this album

Slow, angry, psychedelic and gigantic - like a paisley glacier full of Stanley Knives, flowing over Brian Blessed’s foot - Dethscalator move at their own pace. They formed in 2008 in Hackney, London, and have spent the last five years building up to the release of their debut album Racial Golf Course No Bitches. (The band’s drummer Stu Bell said of the name: “What does it mean? I just had this image in my head of a sign you’d see on a golf course by a picket fence that would make absolutely no sense whatsoever. I think it came about because we found out you can buy 500 golf tees with Dethscalator printed on them for £30.”) And it may have become the Chinese Democracy of noise rock over the last half decade, but now that it’s here, we can safely reassure you that it was well worth the wait. Road hardened and tightened the band have shrugged off their looser, sludge-blasted origins to reconnect with their American 80s post hardcore, pig fuck roots, with riffs n’ hooks worthy of Killdozer, Jesus Lizard, Unsane, Butthole Surfers and Fudge Tunnel but have mixed this up with giant slabs of monolithic doom, coruscating beams of white noise and whirling vortices of space rock. However it is the deep, dub influenced production job; the way that layers and layers of feedback have been marshalled into a horrific orchestral wall of sonic horror and the brightly fizzing lysergic sheen to the whole shebang that will bestow a blessing on your ears. This is guaranteed to tweak your brain’s

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DETHSCALATOR