Tribal Psychadelic Folk Metal. 

Andrae on effected/looped/slayed fiddle,pedal bass synth, & guitar

jimi on acoustic/electric guitar (looped) and choas pad

joey on heavy hand/foot percussion (looped), tabla, and f'n Saxophone

 

 

per avid listener Tom Wildman


ContraForce is actually, a Contra Dance Band.  Having newly formed in the last couple of years and is in my opinion, the finest Contra Band in our Land... pushing the envelope of traditional contra Folk Music into oblivion and lifting younger feet into the ozone, satisfying their taste in epic Millennium Trance Dance tune-age.  Their waltzes breathe improv, lending to glide oneself into meditative arm-twisting and leg boggling poses, enveloping each partner into an exploitive, expletive unbeknownst new move, they had naught their bod could do.  Their bolero-effect traditional pieces transcend the norm of oldey folk dance into modernistic tongue dripping kaleideoscopic borealises of electro transcendental Tai-Chi's for those who dare.  For those who dare let these eccentric vibes lobe through their ears, encircle their heart and melve their medulla.  You will, be in a meditative bliss.  Felt more so whilst driving cross-country to their next dance, alone inside your vehicle's wired ear-piercing, side panel popping symph┼Źnia, as one of their pieces glistens in the rear mirror....    You feel it ~ your toes kringle 'n wreathe till they cramp.  You see it ~ floating a pulsating aura across the roof of your enclosed walls.  You sense it ~ numbing your corpus into gangi dribbling mumbles of unforeseen pleasures.  You breathe it ~ in exhales of rhythmic cataclysmic controlled twists of stringed joy, whilst inhaling microcosmic bacterium of motionless time continuous beats.
                                                                 Enjoy!

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In their first album, they gave us Neo-Blasts. Frothing metallimica style beats mixed with megladon tyrades  and tricyclopocerous dinopods.  Taken from the bowels of elflords and transimposed to newish isle ballads beside romantische gyptic flows.  Continuum cyclonic sweetitudes as your molars blither, pfluming your trisupials from the molten oil gushing lava flows inwards toward colourful cosmic head blows.  Thus the journey from Weolph to Transment to Roof to Hammer to the mellowing mind mush of Viega.  And thenly, the smelting near silent subtle tones across the silkened supple mammilla platitudes and protuberances.  What else is Vampire Assassin, but this frothing food of the Gods, that impale our phungai flailing fingered feet?!  Isn't it really, .... The Rise of our First Orgasm?

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An implosion explosion of our intraportation expectation...morphing our desire for... exploration of deportation transformation.


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A atteint la finalé.  A tús.   A place somewhere betwixt.   So sit we here, rain pounding our shields inside our mobile metronome, lending to the soothing but recluse ambiance within a meditative thought.  ContraForce's nuclearsonic 'THIS' spins though our gnome in epitaph surround-sound, loud enough to bring blue hooded maletrolites with shimmering pink shields to cart us off to nirvana.
    Refreshing.   'THIS' goes way beyond the imagination.  We all want to be teleported inside the Sound Studio when these three are caricaturizing these meticulous symphonium sweet masterful creations.  We envision women in century old gowns and men in boring tuxes, swooshing joyously across a large hall, often separated, as they flither-float to Emma's Waltz.  We brain articulate "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" civil war scene when whisking to Josh and Shannon's Waltz.  So enamored is thus in our cerebrum, we envision the imprisoned soldiers' tear succumbing ever-so-sweet ballad that masks the shrieks of blissfull malaise of Tuco's torture by Angel Eyes.  A metaphor for the goodness that comes from mincing the bad with that of the ugly.    Hobo Sign Language gives us a hint of Downy Mildew, maced with Kitaro impressions.  The precious delicate Japanese strings exalt uplifting; the guitar races the soul into a meditative frenzy, ever so lightly shadowing Japanese lore.   This enrichment so touches our soul we dream of eagle gliding dips and dives along the Shenandoah forests and valleys, total free fall of our limbs which absorb this synergy.  The backdrop percussions amplify this melding the other two, adding life to the eastern culturally influenced piece.  We can't get enough.  We crave and yearn for a forty-five minute version, so that we may mind-loop it endlessly.  And be in Love.
   The Choice has got to be one of the sweetest ballads in a quite some time.  We are somewhere in Eastern Europe, most likely Romania.  There is a romantic moment discovered with a town maiden, who dances by herself, in a room full of glitterati. We swiftly follow, but do not take her hand.  We simply mirror her imagery.  Metsakkukia continues this ballad of flows and enchantments, peaking enthusiastically near the finale.   At the end of the dance, we thank her and simply walk away.  Grounding Ritual has an endearing affect, that slowly builds each moment.  A miniature Bolero. The piece draws you in, waiting for what's next.  Which lends us to A Dance With the Jack of Shadows!  A Forcè Majeure clearly defined, how can we sit still?  The beginning lends a Spanish flamenco influence.   This folds seamlessly into a phenomenal synth-anesthesia wawa effects, most delighted by those who love electronosized '70s origin music of the likes of early Pink Floyd, Tangerine Dream, Jean Jarre, Vangelis, Jan Hammer and Michael Oldfield.  Totally On Purpose takes this further.  One needs to be in a completely enclosed surround-sound room, or inside well juiced mobile metronome, turn the volume all the way up...  and take the magical ride into the next room!  Careful! ...you may have an out-of-the-body experience!!



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Mongrel Vibrations is a newly birthed Noveau.  Beyond Nirvana.  Into Jupiter's left sun.  Screaming existence on Saturn's milkiwheyosis path, breaking to the darth nethers of 
the universe's endlessness horizons.

 We climb this endless ladder inside of DRC, then slide down the abyss of M4Murder.  From the opening, 'Buenos Nochos' rips us from the gallows, nose-shackles us into a down-spiraling cavernous fissure, and shattering our balls from our feet!   And Major Zhdaev & The Multi Breasted Giants of Persei 8/ Sanctuary of One Thousand Testicles is as it seems, a continuation of this nose-shackling...  through a Hungarian abyss welded with wine drenched goulash made of reindeer feet and cryptic well dwelling bloodsuckered testicles.  It is, a race piece that shoves your heart from your chest and has it dancing with others across the floor, ducking under valve twists and pulsating cross-veined swings into Bohemia bliss.

    A paradigm shift catapults 'Post Civilization' through a dynamisus of this cultural flux.  Nosebleeds erupt with sparkling shadows of lustrous transdentalisms.  We narrow our focus on a dynamic viscosity of this pleasure, hoping to loop our souls through dirt, icicles, geysers, dino-entrails, mammoth teeth, molten core and to the other side.  Who could say, they are the ones that sifted through the labyrinth and actually spoke to the sun?  'Icarus' is such an Overture.  'Using Magic For Murder' is like a Sonata,.  Almost mosaic in its nurturing and peacefulness. Shopping Queen is a pitter-pattering Pink Panther piece that morphs into a hard driving rock riff that gives grip to its rhythm.  And, Wink and a Leap...  oh my, Wink and a Leap, is an ear impregnation of viral lymphanoids duckcheesing on electrocuted paralysis of spirohemorrhoidalchlamydiatrachterdontalnoids!


    I have to think long and hard since the last time a band has moved me so.  Their eclectic style and vibrose could knoodle the balls off a Christmas tree and divine into our laps with luscious luminosity.  This musical matriculation is a hyper parabolical shift into a Esoterical paradigm of cornucopia versatile contra mimicry, with newer flavors of magenta, crimson, mangosteen, martensite, larimar and pearl!   Euphoria.  Complete holistic Euphoria.  A burst of star rays settling on a carpet glide ride to Heaven whilst journalizing the Aura Borealis of a single gnomes' beard, string juggling from a tree top.  Imagine...

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ContraForce.   Each time I glide to their beat, I am amazed how their sound matures.  Not in increments, but in light years of voracity und ausgezeichnete voll!  I can't say near enough.  Andrae, Jimi and Joey could fill concert halls with thousands like me in captivation sway, let alone dance a thousand or more at Flurry.


It is hard to imagine they are a Contra Band.  We are spoiled by their presence. And ever so lucky to see their birth onto an artiste Nouveau of dance, that change will forever more!    It is Contra music.  But, with Force.  ContraForce