The naked voice is so simply, the one without clothes. It is the voice without the guise of fashion, its tricks of colorful distraction, of pleasurable enhancement, or the manufactured aesthetic. The voice without the shelter of layers, the protective extensions to keep the world from touching our tenderness. The voice without the false articles, the shameful obfuscation of our original beauty…the naked voice is the essence of the body, as the body alone, unhindered, unrepresented, and uncovered, standing before us in truthful nudity – nothing more, nothing less.
Dangers writes all of their songs with this naked voice, bearing their marred bodies as raging poetry. They destroy any chance of articulation, instead invoking rabid, driven pronunciation of the body in its “mother tongue,” which for Dangers is pure anger (Anger ain’t a mood/it’s a goddamn way of life). The grain of voice is all in the delivery, and Dangers seems to punching us. If nothing else, one can appreciate the force of their bluntness, the encroaching explicitness that is too personally revealing and emotionally draining to be anything but honest. Anything as honest as this is art to me.
In the interest of avoiding an “adjectival” description of the music, here is my alternative interpretation “Break Beat”:
This song is muscle tearing over boiling water; scratchy hemoptysis; broken nose Barry Manilow…scraped knuckles, raised fist.
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