Dirty Mitts’ “Electric Kid” thrums with unholy grit and angelic spunk – a tornado of piteous blues bearing the fierce snarl of an unchained beast against gleaming lutescent moonlight. Graffiti’d on back alley walls of sound, snippets weave through gory biro-scribbled stanzas.
A seismic surge sends us hurtling into wanton nostalgia – Tommy’s voice, a ragged specter haunting forgotten halls; bassist Matt serving grave throbs beneath Mo’s razor-edged riffs that snag your soul and let it bleed out each plucked anguish. Every drum beat from Mateusz then sobs like ancient ghosts clawing at tightly nailed coffins for release.
Yet within this cataclysmic cacophony lies a quirkily hopeful insomnia – fashioned no less by designer Ghazi’s lyrical talents, as each word choice roars audacious defiance between histrionic cries and tender whispers.
The tumultuous ebb and flow ultimately conspires to birth a redemptive anthem – it is messy, scorching turmoil etched coolly out in lucid self-reflection. “Electric Kid” proves Dirty Mitts are not chroniclers simply wallowing but warriors fighting their way home.
Gloriously dissonant! A symphony shattering centuries to emerge raw-eyed but unbowed from its ashes awakened our weary ears on May 3rd – all streaming platforms their battlefield. This aberration won’t bow…and none should dare demand it so!
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