DEAFCULT have got a name that looks like it could belong to a death metal band, but commit to a sound  that belongs to some intelligent shoegaze melding with a whirring post-punk aesthetic, like Fucked Up meeting Swervedriver in a tumble drier. Their music is built like a hurricane, tidal waves of crushing sound lashing about, but tied neatly together by vocals that form the eye of the storm, an unrelenting, expert calm that thoroughly compliments DEAFCULT’s wilder, more experimental tendencies.

Fuck, they’ve only played one show together, but DEAFCULT’s EP is better than what most band’s manage to put out after years and years. Squalling noise battles it out amongst serene vocals that are backed towards the corners of the mix. Any listener that wants to hear the words that escape from DEAFCULT have to battle through a thronging mosh of instruments to decipher what’s going on. If you can’t be fucked, that’s okay too – just sit back and enjoy the maelstrom.

If you’ve only got thirty seconds because you’re busier than Al Montfort trying to make it to every band practise in Melbourne, then tune into either “B To A”, or “Akira”. It doesn’t matter – as soon as you lose yourself within the first thirty seconds, you’re going to be lulled into listening to this whole EP over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.


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