Shit No More — how much is said in these parsimonious words for those who suffer from diarrhoea! Try to envision your life without shit, dungs and turds — how romantic it is! No pink female butts, straining under your windows, no sweet odour on your porch, no neat brown clusters, precisely scattered on the streets by our quadruped friends — it’s like Abosranie Bogom’s nightmare! But our attention now is turned to the Tver-based band Shit No More who are bringing anti-turd propaganda into the hearts of Russian (including, but not limited to) underground dwellers. What are we dealing with on the four-track demo of this gang with a passion for tidiness? Confused a bit, I will say that it’s quite hard to give an indisputable answer to this question. Let’s make a small excursion into the stuff provided on the tape, as we soothe ourselves with the thought that judging by the band’s name there hopefully won’t be much shit.

The beginning of the tape certainly kicks the average russian TV-viewer right in the balls — a small advertising lecture about «Tampax» tampons causing chronic impotence even to young hippopotamus in the heat of copulation. After my friend and I groaned together: «You have sold-out to Tampax, foes!», we decided not to contemplate on whether the band offers the listeners the opportunity to swap one secretions on another, and continued to get ourselves acquainted with the music, which has finally started after a horrible scream «come on!» which reminded us that not only two fingers in the mouth can guarantee you quick evacuation of the stomach contents. Hearing the horrendous sound of clear rap (or should I say crap?) vocals with eroded, well-worn and crumbly riffs in the background, we became a bit gloomy, but high-speed belching in the second song cheered us up a bit, turning up as a quite peculiar way to entertain potential listeners. The music itself reminds of an amateurish and very basic version of Israel band People, and it is quite contrasting — it’s either fast or slow, the musicians either didn’t know about the existence of the mid-tempo, or decided that the golden mean is not for real men. While I was expressing all these thoughts in more blatant, paper-oriented form, IT (or to be exact, the third track) has begun. Actually, IT was a dumb eurodance-rhythm accompanied by some individuals of unidentified gender, age and credit card number running their mouths about some brothas, fellas and other balderdash, the thoughts about which are still haunting me in especially nightmarish dreams. The last opus of the tape has begun. Am I together with Yeltsin? God dammit, what the hell are you asking, I’m not a gerontophile! No, the world would rather be full of dungs than I would be together with Yeltsin…

In general, it’s amusing. Not much music, and a lot of amusement, jokes and certain primevally-conceptual laughter. But as is true of every joke, this is not funny the second time you hear it. That’s all, folks.

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