Tobacco
Maniac Meat
The basics haven't changed: Tobacco is Tom Fec when he's on vacation from Black Moth Super Rainbow, his influences are emotions (yours) and trash (the Jerky Boys, work-out tapes), and his interest in easy-to-figure lyrics ranges from "vague" all the way up to "cursory". Intermingled with fuzz and what could almost be the bass line from Armand Van Helden's "Little Black Spiders", you'll find Fec's distort-heavy voice, exhorting you that he "doesn't want to be like you", which probably isn't going to be that difficult for those of us still struggling on how to "lick the witch" and such. (Beck makes a by-mail appearance that smoothes some transitions, but ultimately, you're comprehension is in the hands of a cleaned-up street ranter.) While it isn't aurally offensive enough to wear the label "difficult", Maniac Meat hews about as close to the noisier edge as one can get while still filtering the vocals with the bludgeoning strength of an American Idol production staff. (What's going to happen to our future, when they grow up without Speak n' Spell? Are the digital prophets of 2020 going to be making rapslash out of that irritating OnStar woman who keeps telling you to "Turn Left"?)
There were more than a few of albums that played in the same all-on-your-own sandbox Maniac Meat calls its own, and the likelihood of that field expanding is undoubtable: the technology is there, even artists are pirating it, and there's way too many bedrooms to expect all of them to be filled with Bob Dylan imitators. Skill isn't even a barometer anymore--not that people don't have it, but that they do--and while talent matters, neither of those are what Tobacco relies on here. After the weirdness, post-accomplishment and with commercial concerns handled by outside agency, Maniac Meat is operating towards the intent that J. Hill, Switch & Diplo came up with for 2008's Santogold track, "Starstruck"--a slow motion soundtrack, one that will accent and accelerate the skyscrapers of our future. Digital workout sessions, bodies the size of Godzilla, ingesting the world around them. You might dance to this, but it'll be in jerky motions. You'd be better off destroying something.
-Tucker Stone, 2010
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