The vocals chatter suspiciously or howl with primal anger – English words make few appearances. Most of the instrumentation is percussive and untraditional: spoons battering pots, assorted junk clanking about recklessly. Tempo is cast aside for instinct, the pace being set by sideways glances from player to player.
As Saalens and Co. exorcise each others’ demons, shrieking, furiously pounding on whatever is available, the listening experience becomes one of difficulty and frustration rather than interest. The foreignness of the performance can be especially chilling, with few reference points for listeners to grasp. The album succeeds at its least and most accessible: the scrap metal noise anti-symphony of “Metal Storm” and the eleven-minute dirge, “Cape Meares.”
The rest is frankly unimpressive, however haunting and strange. Given enough drugs and microphones, many art school music kids could whip up their own version of The Birds and not think much of it. Inca Ore and friends might have needed a good soul-purging, but listeners have no need to hear the evidence.
– Steve Mizek
Inca Ore (5 Rue Christine)