![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirQk6UW6b3KJDYt1c18wa5ajbdGw5CWgs6rHROUgNESQS6KVvJruu52p0F-URJr3atthNn4nTJsjUL81CN9AKuSlG2lrDHWftzWOCng7e6HUEQyctcx27gOcRgey3d4nQZtSACNX-FKYg/s200/irishcoffe.jpg)
Thick and creamy proto-metal slop from these Belgians on their only long player, this album floats on a layer of hockey rink keyboards and Quaalude delirium. The guitar chases its own tail in great flaming loops as the muffled rhythm section choogles on behind a thick, nasty fog. Of special note are the vocals, which range from hoarse gospelish bellowing to syrupy multiple harmonizing to mushmouthed mumbling, often in the same song. I like my coffee the way I like my rock and roll:
Fucking weird.
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