Matt Preira at first struck me as a nice gent of questionable Portuguese ancestry. I love grilled octopus, vinho verde, and bacalao as much as the next guy who fancies himself an eater, but upon further inspection of his Roofless Records catalog, Portugal association be damned, this cat's got some serious degenerate tendencies when it comes to the musicks he associates himself with, let alone the ones he puts out.
This split seven-inch gives me a hard-on. I guess this will get pegged with the "experimental" bug, but this is Futurisk-styled future-punk, replete with minimal Casio-tones, synth-dance, and Jabberwocky nonsense. It's wildly danceable, funky in its lack of overture but delicious in its execution.
Although there might be a slight stylistically different opinion on the sides, they work well in tandem and actually progress symbiotically in a "who cares who's who?" kind of way. Who is the Skeleton Warrior? Who cares! If getting skeletal means stripping down the shit to create something good, I'm down with it.
Who the hell are the peeps behind the unpronounceable Preaux Breaux Geauxld? Pseudo-French? Lusophone? Francophones? Who gives? It's good! And somehow Tampa factors in. Who woulda thunk it? Six bucks, dickie! Cheaper than euros and Eighth Street whores!
And on a side note, the cool ex-Canadians of Vice Magazine got funny with their review. Guess what? Come down to Florida for some "Southern hospitality," assholes.