Maillist

 

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In a time before Teeth of the Sea, there was JAWS. A mythical beast that existed chiefly in its members’ imaginations, it was to be the ultimate incandescent and unsavoury aural burnout; a bracing, no-rules tarpit of abjection and intrigue.

Then they actually had a band practice, and found that instead it sounded like an inept, drumloop-driven racket. Only mildly disheartened, the band lay dormant until a decidedly blurry, in-the-red evening at a show in one of the murkier quarters of the metropolis, when its entourage were excited enough in their addled state to forge a master plan once again: Their mission: to stand atop the scrapheap of modern avant-rock like some wayward, drunken colossus.

Armed with freedom of intent, irreverence and sheer hedonistic spirit, they would banish the legions of laptop-tapping timewasters and po-faced noisemongers that habitually blighted their evenings out, forever. Then they actually had some band practices, and were pleasantly surprised to find that what emerged from the new lineup was a turbulent, fiery and atmospheric instrumental brew that encompassed searing cosmic psychedelia, melodramatic giallo soundscapes, mariachi melancholia and kraut-tinged droning occultism. This band hence metamorphosised into Teeth of the Sea.


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