Warmer Milks - Radish on Light

Troubleman Unlimited
Released: 09.12.06

When Warmer Milks put out their Early Castles CDR a few years ago, I fell in love with its vaguely psychedelic, vaguely folk tunes within a few listens. Not immediately accessible, it does take a few listens. But those who stuck it out through unexplained 7-minute silences and the breaking off mid-song when a string goes out of tune found some seductive and contemplative songs. Never the type to retrace their steps, they moved on with gusto, making a half-hour hypnotic jam of Penetration Initials, the tape manipulations of Aja Braun that I’m pretty sure consisted mostly of burps, farts, and gargling, and a harshly chaotic group of songs (frankly, I’m not even sure what it’s called since there wasn’t any indication and I was half-drunk when I got it at a show) that I could only describe as summoning the devil and raping him. It seemed that every time I looked them up, Warmer Milks were handing around new recordings that varied greatly from each other. And each one was fully realized. There was no half-assing about it. Warmer Milks was all about commitment.

So it’s a little disappointing to find out that Warmer Milks is no more. Still, they’ve left us the most proper of their releases, Radish on Light on Troubleman. Don’t be disappointed that there are only four songs. Each one packs a wallop, sounding like the basement recordings of a post-apocalyptic serial killer. Mikey T’s voice squirms over bending guitars and lackadaisical drums on “In the Fields” before screaming himself horse. “The Shark” gives us a brief rest, washing our ears with smooth noise. But not for long. Soon a beat comes into action, barely holding together a bass line that thrives in the dark corner and two guitars clanging against each other. The body is jittered by “Pentagram of Sores”’s twisted rhythms, coming across at first as a good friend and then dragging barbed wire across your back. Thank god for the healing power of a Sabbath riff that anyone can, not exactly bang your head to, but nod very aggressively. The fifteen-minute “Radish on Light” once again blows some cool air over our lobes. We needed it. Feedback surrounds us. Yes, we’ve killed you, but it we did it out of love. Let us wrap you in a blanket of warm fuzz and say goodnight to one of the most constantly surprising and fearless bands I’ve ever heard. There is no self-consciousness here. Sleep well.

- Matt Thompson