A flaming tribute to the peaks of low budget Italian crime flicks and to synthwave as lubed-up as we need, poisoned with synthetic drugs and the rust from circuit boards, Scorpion Violente are the epitome of everything the entrepreneurial divertimento generation hate. Feeling up their synths with all the vigor of a manic depressive on a downward slope, our two hosts emit their dirty feedback-washed discharge, adding Ich bin and Le Syndicat Electronique to their holiday activity books. The tempo is even slower than before, with echoes more distant than In Aeternum Vale and Ike Yard dripping from their stabbing loops. Litanies almost crashing into chasms ooze in this cold cyclo-rhythmic blues, sure to make Alan Vega turn in his grave. Sick, sordid old crooning spat like bile from a wounded animal, fairy tales of ordinary madness, everyday nightmares and steel-reinforced rock ab from Lorraine, drifting in the cold gas-clouds of sulfur-laced heroin. These dudes are not fucking around, they go all the way. No remorse. Life rules most when it sucks, and maybe it's right there, in the firmament of famine, in the atrium of deserted factories, where the last vestiges of poetry survive.
They sure kept us stewing since their first EP, but it was well worth the wait.