$15.00
"Really impressed by the vinyl debut from Christchurch, New Zealand’s Dance Asthmatics, Lifetime Of Secretion. They’ve got a great sound, one that could’ve wedged itself into various scenes through the decades (late ’70s UK DIY, mid-’80s oddball Texas underground (ala Butthole Surfers or Culturcide), early ’00s Load Records scum-wave), but also stands out on its own. A guitar (or guitar-sounding) riff will call to mind Arab On Radar at their most irritating, met by a lead-weighted bass reminiscent of PiL and a vocalist who sounds like Pheromoans’ Russell Walker doing his best John Lydon impression. Their songs are mostly pretty slow, about as relaxed as something no-wavey could ever get, which has me thinking of Satanic Rockers or Sacred Product granted a proper studio recording and proper musicians to flesh it out. The names I’ve checked in this review would make for a mix CD I’d rarely remove from my car, and The Dance Asthmatics manage to stir it all confidently and smoothly, as if their leisurely pacing was the only way a band could ever choose to perform misanthropic alternative rock" - Yellow Green Red, November 2016
"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." - Tiny Mix Tapes