- New
CUIR - Monoface 12"
€12.00
No tax
WARNING - This is a preorder, records will be sent in a delay of 20 / 30 days
The pink balaclava is back. And this time, it doesn't turn around. Monoface — the title says it all, with that economy of words Doug has always had. One side. One face. A mask with no reverse. Since his first cassettes in 2019, CUIR has never needed to justify himself or look back: the project moves in a straight line, synth forward, mouth shut, riff straight to the jaw. This new record is no exception. Same nervy synthpunk, nodding as much to street Oi! as to cold wave and '80s cyberpunk — a sound that is unmistakably his, as recognizable as his fuchsia balaclava screwed tight on his head. The production, tight but never sanitized, keeps that slightly greasy texture that sticks to your fingers like cheap latex — and that's exactly what you want from it. The lyrics, as always with CUIR, work that register that is both trivial and deeply personal: laziness raised to a philosophy, self-destruction worn with a grin, the sordid everyday told with disarming sincerity and a hint of irony. Doug doesn't pretend to be anyone else — and that's the whole point. In a punk world that now takes itself far too seriously, CUIR keeps being funny, grimy, and brutally honest. Play it loud. Preferably in a van that smells of beer and rubber.
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WARNING - This is a preorder, records will be sent in a delay of 20 / 30 days
The pink balaclava is back. And this time, it doesn't turn around. Monoface — the title says it all, with that economy of words Doug has always had. One side. One face. A mask with no reverse. Since his first cassettes in 2019, CUIR has never needed to justify himself or look back: the project moves in a straight line, synth forward, mouth shut, riff straight to the jaw. This new record is no exception. Same nervy synthpunk, nodding as much to street Oi! as to cold wave and '80s cyberpunk — a sound that is unmistakably his, as recognizable as his fuchsia balaclava screwed tight on his head. The production, tight but never sanitized, keeps that slightly greasy texture that sticks to your fingers like cheap latex — and that's exactly what you want from it. The lyrics, as always with CUIR, work that register that is both trivial and deeply personal: laziness raised to a philosophy, self-destruction worn with a grin, the sordid everyday told with disarming sincerity and a hint of irony. Doug doesn't pretend to be anyone else — and that's the whole point. In a punk world that now takes itself far too seriously, CUIR keeps being funny, grimy, and brutally honest. Play it loud. Preferably in a van that smells of beer and rubber.