Aptly named after what your eardrums will shout after the first play of this infectious debut, Toronto based mega-band Holy Fuck may have just sneaked in at the last minute to claim their place in my top albums of this year. LP is the sound of a techno band practice in a dirty, disused toy shop after a power cut. From start to finish these 9 songs will kidnap your wife and kids and demand you accompany them on their fucked up, full-throttle joy ride if you ever want to see them alive again.
Hailing from a more punk rock background Holy Fuck construct pounding beats topped by crazy, swirling melodies that could be described as dance music if they weren't treated like full on rock songs. Using a whole heap of instruments and objects from battery powered, broken down keyboards to scratched 35 mm film, LP was totally written and recorded live and this method is at the heart of it's appeal. Each song seems to start with no direction only to fuck you up. As you think an end is near you can almost imagine one member signaling to another to go around again and the song takes off in another direction and you're left tied to the bumper of this unsupervised free-for-all.
It seems wrong to pick out individual tracks as this album has been constructed as a whole. As one song fades out another is waiting, impatiently to come on and as the beats are beautifully overlaid over each other the result is a tag-team assault that won't give up. Its pace is the infectious part. I like to think of music as a soundtrack to life but if you had this in your ears it would infect every thing you did. If you jogged to this you'd be at the top of Rocky's steps in no time, even if you set out from Clapham. With this on your headphones your evening walk to the tube would turn into a routine, Bourne style hit (before the amnesia). And if you had it in your car, well God help you and any one on the road. This is the musical equivalent of the opening scene in Beverly Hills Cop. It's an out-of-control juggernaut packed with contraband goods pelting down a suburban high street and your at the back swinging in the wind.