Cursor Minor Explosive Piece of Mind
Judging by the puns-to-syllables ratio of Cursor Miner’s name and album title, you might expect […]
Judging by the puns-to-syllables ratio of Cursor Miner’s name and album title, you might expect England’s Cursor Miner to take the occasional walk on the wacky side. And that he does on this album of doorbell funk, sparkplug punk and “No one said I couldn’t!” spunk. Yes, the vocals are awfully, even uncomfortably close to Beck’s cheeky early years, especially on the countrified “Salt Solution,” whose devil’s haircut sticks up in a spiky, two-fingered gesture as if to say, “Yeah’ nicked the melody-what are you going to do about it?” Like Beck, Cursor Miner’s got a thing for vintage rock’n’roll, but he updates his garage rawk with UK garage and ‘ardkore shock, with battered breaks and evil basslines hoovering through music history. Brilliant stuff, no matter how bad his sense of humor.