When Turbo Short stands on tippy-toes around a stage or just walk their way into an accommodating CD player you're liable to hear some rough trash can lid thumping, some green eyed warbling, some fouled up euro-pop and maybe even a yelled phrase rambling or four. This isn't the product of "little-people" coddling or of accumulated piggy banks but, rather, that of four distant aquintances from various Northern Siberian locales who take their Shortness seriously. But not so much that they can't have a "little" fun tossing little ducks around. Or a "tall" of fun, usually, "shortness" is the key word........................................................
...............In October of 1962, looking to assemble a band with similar shortness to finish his solo album, Sllew Hcir encountered Mahsrow, Yelmuhc and Remraf at a local sausage factory's open mic night. Knowing already that Yelmuhc and Mahsrow were the “Trash can owners from Purgatory†and seeing that Remraf’s somewhat torturouly ragged skills (ukelele, saw and bow, cat-strangling) would be a crucial ingredient, he asked them if they would like to help him finish his project. ........................................................... After their first session it was apparent that even less was going on than a “Sllew Hcir †project. With the Scooter Libby Influenced clogging work of Mahsrow, the hints of Yougoslavian Folk Music and raw Shoulder-Cut Roast provided by Remraf, Hcir’s bowel provoking Brown-Note Research and Yelmuhc ’s Pediatrican-stlye crooning, they had created a small animal praying for death and Turbo Short started their visious downward spiral. ............................................ Influenced also by the experimental music of bands such as Olivia-Newton John and Barry Manilow, geniuses like Nick LaShay and Sir Mix-a-Lot, the emotional-stunted mini-hulks are not afraid to embrace the darker side of the musical landscape. Their songs may weave from chaos to order and back again, illustrating that noise can be music and vice versa. But even with the sporadic detours the train is surely doomed to a fiery cataclysmic explosion. Evidence is offered up by the variety of styles covered on their self-titled debut CD "Notes On Our Belly-Buttons"..............................................
.... From the blood pressure-halting work routine documented in "Rug Wallerin" to the dull, *everything's all right* confines of "Fuck em', Take Their Money", there's unequal parts squishy, rigged, and culturally stagnant apathy and indifference flowing through these songs. So, here's hoping you stay far, far away from Turbo Short. The intellectual inept name is actually a recommendation for potential acolytes to "Give Your Shins To Us. We Need Them More", though some suspect a few of the guys might actually have their own shins but lust for the shins covetted to others. It is not their fault, but the product of their up-bringing. That's their clean little widely known fact though. The band handle is more of a limp wristed paw for the tasty habit of Radio Censorship directing one's lunch meat preferences, political aspirations, and producer rentals. For even less evidence, completely ignore " Anti-Waltz For Hugo". ............................................................
. Heavens, do not enourage them. Then, should you run away, stick your head in the silverware drawer, talk to no one, neglect your pets, make some weak helpless noise and rue the day you even heard of the neatly pressed body hair. However, please yell out "Livin' La Vida Loca", "Lets Get Physical", "Baby Got Backâ€, and whatever your favorite AM Christian Talk staple may be. We'd really approve of the distraction in the newly invaded northwest...
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