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‘Growth’ contains the edited, collaged and overdubbed first two live performances of Dublin grindcore, hardcore three piece Tarracóir (Gaelic for Tractor), featuring Diarmad Mac Diarmada (Tenor Sax, Trombone, Percussion, Garden Hose, Vox), Bryan O'Connell (Drums) and Gavin Prior (Guitar, Vox, Bass, Piano Innards, Electronics). With elements of free jazz and death metal accompanied by chaotic additions of demon-chasing rituals, their music has a primitive brutality that is deliberately ignorant.


CD £7.99 DV50

CD on Deserted Village of bonkers jazz metal.

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REVIEWS

Growth by Tarracoir
1 review. Write a review for us »
8/10 Robin Staff review, 25 August 2015

Woah okay there. This is some sort of thing. Tarracoir come self described as grindcore (a lie, for the most part), hardcore (a definite lie) and “not Normcore” (which is actually the truth). If there’s a genre that adequately describes people falling onto their instruments and smashing their heads against cymbals at variable speeds, plus groaning into brass instruments like a bunch of skeletal zombies moving in for the brains, then… these guys pioneered it? I’d call it freeform if I wasn’t imagining an octopus playing the drums right now.

This shit is good at conjuring up visions of a whole spectrum of different noisemakers, be they the kind who fuck with circuits (oh Merzbow) or the kind of switch between perfectly-timed blastbeats into a random abandonment of structure (how are you, John Zorn? I am well). When the band drone together, they make a harrowing sound that conjures up ghoulish nightmares, in part because of the way they juxtapose modest perpetuations of feedback or electronics with sax and trombone; it sounds like two different types of lifeforms being sick at the same time.

So yeah, do not seek patterns and do not hope for much more than the occasionally serendipitous beat (I actually very much enjoy the upside-down march of our fifth track). For intensity, though, this record can’t be beat: imagining these guys physically create this record of skronky impressionism makes me want to quit my job and run them a presidential campaign. Fans of Haino and Ambarchi and all the rest: quench your avant-garde, drum-splitting thirst with this.



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