Werk Records Showcase feat. Monkeysteak, Actress, Po-Ski

Review taken from Sandman magazine:

Werk Records take over c90

C90 @ Sharkey's Bar

Orange faced skeletors in cowboy hats are wobbling around in short skirts shrieking, meaty, greasy fellows are patrolling in de rigeaur Ben Sherman wear bellowing their ugly faces off. This is Saturday night on West Street in Sheffield, no different to a hundred other Saturday nights in a hundred other tacky holes where everyone’s a competitor in Boozey Britain. All and sundry are desperately trying to clamber inside each other through a fleshy portal of WKD, rucking and tramps where the pavements are drenched in vom and discarded takeaway. Sharkey’s Bar is no exception, there’s pushing and shoving, the music’s so loud your words can’t be deciphered without poking your tongue into someone’s ear, it’s basically fucking vile. Thankfully above this sticky intoxication and loud horniness there’s something grimey going on…

Another C90, another venue and this time round it’s right under the preened nostrils of the idiot mainstream, where commercial clubbing and ‘Exposed’ endorsed city living are the two biggest lumps of shitty gunk clogging up the cultural water works of Sheffield. Amidst this flouncing it’s the turn of the London based Werk label to ravage the ears of the C90 devoted, to provide a showcase of their finest ‘squonk core’ (their words) and sub bass lobe bashing wonk outs (mine). For those not in the know Werk are currently flinging out some of the hardest, most experimental electronic music available, in the form of the anonymous Grim Dub series (check www.boomkat.com and www.werk-it.com for the full lowdown). They’re inventing new genres (‘Eurocrunk,’ ‘Squidass’), hosting incendiary London boat parties and wrecking havoc on rigs and sound systems wherever their perversion wanders. Inspirational.

Po-Ski is up first and utilising decks and laptop gives the ‘electronica’ template a thorough fingering. From Kano, glitch heavy house, to the Bug, severe tuneage is splattered together in a fat cauldron of grime and bass.

Against some trippy visuals a solitary dancefloor warrior shakes himself through out whilst the venue’s cockles begin to warm up. Actress dons the gloves next and again laptops and effects are used to twist and contort colostomy bag filling bass lines into grimey acid danger tactics. It’s loud, obnoxious and fucking great but reference points and words are useless in describing this fucked up sound. It’s not like anything else and you should fill your ears with this new bass heavy science. Monkey Steak is the final artist, a slightly porky, bearded, bespectacled man smoking drum who leaps up and down behind his computer like an angry, robotic fox. As he waves his hands around his head a mash up of riddims and filthy noises tumble out of the speakers and flood the room, hammering ears and stomachs. Like an escalator jumping down a flight of stairs it’s glorious and, like feeding your mum gin, a bit wrong….As we do one the room’s vibrating and the promoters are dancing, it’s rump shaking all the way. Downstairs a bunch of wankers are spewing over each other whilst above them ears and eyes are being forced open. Another C90 another triumph, their party bus is picking up momentum. Time to get involved… - Words: Jim Ottewill