The Fucking Champs

Friday, May 24; Rocket Bar

The Fucking Champs are students of a discipline known as Total Music: By meticulously combining high-technology audio equipment, massive volume and an imperial triumvirate of complex, delicate and blistering guitar techniques, they seek to forge the future of music. Total Music eschews anachronisms such as lyrics, bass guitars, soundmen, house PAs, image and anything else that detracts from the actual music. Tim Green, Tim Soete and Josh Smith are merely vessels that project the sounds. Yet when music journalists report on the Fucking Champs, they always fall back on comparisons to '70s hard-rock bands, prog-rock dillholes or '80s metal bands -- an error as egregious as comparing the horse and buggy to a fusion-powered deep-space-exploration craft. The Fucking Champs are revolutionaries: Their music is not an ironic commentary on twin-guitar heavy metal; they are not reliving some juvenile fascination with Yes; they are not just fucking around. The Fucking Champs are creating a new language in music. Total Music is an aural metaphor for emotions and states of consciousness that have never been imagined, much less explored -- until now.

The Champs' latest album, V (Drag City), is another piece of the codex that will, when completed at some unknown date, alter human history. Witness the Fucking Champs; witness the future; witness Total Music. Your evolution to a purer state hinges on having the detritus of the past blasted out of your head by the fury of the Fucking Champs.

 
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