Prolapse railed with incisive wit and (slash/)oblique political insight, with loaded menace against those who are obsessed with the rain, state of the youth, shifting the blame in late-twentieth century british culture.
Their brands of contrasts juxtaposed loud/noise with purity/melody and harmony.
Their sonic youth guitars brought an intensity to a shambolic independent sensibility
intensity.
The male/ female harmony, with female melody, often mbv style melody, male rants in the background scottish street-preacher, scathing against all manifestations of daily drivel, pride, meaningless lifestyles, media and music. The put-downs are exemplary:
I might have to kill you which wouldn’t be fair…on me.
The abrasive and showering music lifting melodies linking with staccato persussion and guitar onslaught from the kevin shields thurston moore school.
But what marked this ensemble out from the norm was the dialogue between the singers. This stands out a mile from the earlier shoeqazing era, there are no big themes or soaring skies here. This is raw and engaging, never blissful or reflective. There are mythical siberian craters into which life may collapse from the weight of desperation and mediocrity, a doom-laden descendent of magazine’s permafrost.
The lyrics strike a chaotic narrative of songs like killing the bland -
by the time I was told to leave I was ready to go anyway – crashing in with the intensive eruption of a pub brawl. These are the haunts of drunken glaswegian philosophers, reminiscent of kellman (nobody loves you, nobody cares),
but with a glimpse of pride: see them - carrying aff the cup for scotland.
There is a warmth amidst the desolation.
Cacophony no. A is anything but, with the tension of the maelstrom leading to rampant release of white noise deluge.
The song titles witness to their imagination: I hate the clicking man, flat velocity shoes, visa for violet and van.
Autocade is almost pure guitar pop, remiscent of primitives or nightblooms and cascading shards and layers of guitar spattering the sky.
This is some of the most imaginitive indie guitar music to have developed out of the late 80s early 90s guitar tradition.
The record does well to document the bands energy and chaos, but would never be able to capture the ferocious live experience of the Prolapse show, where the front pair would often be fighting and sparring duel//dual vocals, rolling on the floor in (mock?) confrontation.

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