There's a room. Battered old synthesizers litter the lefthand side and ancient amplifiers and dismembered drums take up the right. Circuit-bent kids' toys lie on the floor bleeping and buzzing by their own volition as a doll's head ashtray brims over on one of the amps. Through the smoke, in the corner, sits Clint, lacing the room with poisoned grooves and frenetic, Vishnu fills. Next to him bounces Gid, providing more funk and fuzz than an electro-filth band generally serves you with. Screaming and thrashing around, Bill yelps and growls his way through each song whilst Ruup's pedals flip-out in in a fit of slippery sonic epilepsy. And the twisted images and videos? They're the work of Garvey. Welcome to Tasha Fights Tigers
