Zakazany owoc

A dense, playful whirlwind of loud riffs and hoarse sacred rebellion - as if someone decided to concoct a forbidden cocktail of techno, metal, and hoarse hip-hop in their garage, then fried it over the high heat of a drum machine. The vocals tear the picture to shreds: sometimes demonic laughter, sometimes a confession in a raised voice, sometimes a crude joke that is both funny and slightly unsettling. The repeated phrases are like a spell that keeps you awake and makes your head start to bang in time with the beat.

Prohibitions and temptations reign here: ‘hard and soft,’ ‘forbidden fruit,’ scenes where a priest tears off his cassock and invites you to dance - it all looks like a caricatured fairground of religious anxiety. Inside, there is biting irony towards other people's customs: they try to control with prohibitions, but downstairs, in the garage, another cult is going on - louder, rougher, more honest. And in this conflict, there is an almost childlike excitement - yes, you can swear, you can joke on the edge, the main thing is not to lose the rhythm.

A passionate, slightly provocative diary of nightmares: after the first verse, you are left with the feeling that somewhere in the background a red-hot dragon is dancing the lambada, and on stage there is a carnival of wounded angels and clowns. The music seems to wink and whisper: stop believing all these instructions, turn on the beat and see who comes out to dance.