A billion ants, happening perfectly, create order out of chaos... a collective, pounding rhythm formed by random individuals. Free of monotony, flat lines. A fertile soil, a healthy soul, from which rank tunes are born and bred... sons and daughters, sired by their makers. Songs from the heart, for those whose beat fiercely.
Don't get me wrong. This ain't no Nature Rock.
This is F.O.E. - #21 that is. The big building on the corner that no one notices, even after it is gone...mostly. So, let us digress, splay, or..."Spill the milk" as they say. Ladies and gentlemen, with none ado further, I bring you... Friends of Enemies.
Question: Was F.O.E. fueled by, "The only six-foot Asian stoner who could make your white-ass sound like Jimi Hendrix?"
Answer: Perhaps. Or most definitely... if you find it near impossible to ignore the overcharged snare rolls (read: snarls!). But why would you want to do that anyway? Face it. It's cardiatic. And that is good for you.
The music of F.O.E. was officially lacerating. Raucous. Partied more than preached. Floodgate vocals: sung-yelled in English, but the words had different meanings. The dueling gee-tar attack sliced and diced, groped and doped. Left you out to dry. While the pummeling drums and the mean-streaking bass supplied the attitude. A little bit angry, a little bit full of it. A wee bit tongue-in-cheek, and a tad of the ol' fist-between-the-cheeks, 'Ho, Ho, Ho!'
F.O.E. roared like lions... until they didn't.