Accidente = The Melvins + FoR + The Fall (for wry nonchalance)
Exotic Payday sounds like a moon-shined Paul Bunyan careening around the lumberyard with a hatchet recently sharpened on the ol' whetstone�in other words, heavy, ungainly and dangerous. Is it wrong for me to think Mr. Peter Makowski is just cuter than ever as he gargles, spits, retches, spews rabies-laden saliva and shreds his throat into Austin pork barbecue to get across his tongue-in-cheek, sarcastic, red-hot-burning angst? Guitars sound like jagged peaks and valleys on the bar graph of a company in constant, alarming flux. Drums'll crush your skull in, scrape out your brain and eat corn chowder out of the bone bowl that's left. Lyrical approach is about as cleverly cryptic and primal as pornography for the blind. They're mathy, sure, but they're also smoking horse dung in the back of the geometry room in full view of the teacher.