Trance Fusion

A load of shit.

Cheesy breakdowns, cringemaking melodies, shit lines, thin production.

Fuck.

It’s the sort of trance you want to hit as soon as you see it, as soon as you smell it coming around the corner and you will smell it, oh yes, you’ll smell this from afar, it’s a steaming pile of gorgonzola that’s been left in the sun for three weeks.

And every time something half decent happens, you think “well, they might be able to make something good out of this if only they — ” at which point they balls it up completely by sticking a dodgy keychange underneath, or worse still put yet another sodding break in the music.

I mean Siriussly. HAHAHA do you know I put more thought into that crotchrot pun then they put into the whole album? It’s a fucking disgrace.

It makes me want to strangle babies. It personifies and exemplifies everything that has become bad about this genre – the melodies, the lack of imagination, the MDMA-look-at-me glowstick flurries, and “even” vocals. Which are of course shit.

I can’t even pick out the single worst track – but it’s probably the title track. To say that it’s pretty fucking disgusting is an insult to things that are genuinely pretty fucking disgusting. The singer needs to be shot, she sounds like Sinead O’Connor would sound if she was made of shit bits of old metal discarded by a shit factory making shit. The keychanges are enough to give Protoculture nightmares.

One of their tracks is called Powerful Reality. This is ironic because the powerful reality here is that this is one of the most pathetic, derivative, soulless albums I’ve ever had the pleasure of reviewing.

This, folks, is what’s about to die. Every time something like this comes along – Hypersonic, Dali, Future Prophecy – psyreviews tends to comment that the fullpowahpsytrancebabayeahyeah shitbeast is beginning to breathe its last.

Trance Fusion is a dribble of shit coming out of the anus of the corpse; or as it’s now known, Phantasm Records.