The guttural edge of mclusky meets the rugged vocal swagger of Mike Skinner, all funneled into a Christchurch waffle cone. There is more to Dance Asthmatics’ Lifetime of Secretion than nominal touchstones and orgasmic noises, like real button pushing and super heavy experimental rock that drips in classic Sabbath lewdness. And that’s just the back half of the cassette. The sing-song speak of the lyrics are comely, homely. It adds to the goosebumps of an album that oscillates between drunken rambles and clearheaded musical ideology. But it’s that middle ground, where art and punk collide(d) that real forward thought thrusts into challenging, yet rewarding work was forged. Lifetime of Secretion feels more like a no wave forgotten gem, though the Christchurch of Dance Asthmatics is as far and intangible. I’m sure most will also be taken aback by the presence of a being known only as Human #22, but it’s that willingness to go without a name that makes his prophecies so hypnotic and timeless. Ultimately, all this is just one taboo, from the sexual pique of the 60’s through the seedy underbelly of 10’s congeniality. It perverts time, place and circumstance — it truly is a wonderdrug of music. A filthy documentation of something none of us really experience outside of stills and stories. Now it unspools clumsily, perhaps with its own old crooning criminal.
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