frustration: uncivilized

Born Bad Records presents Frustration's second LP. The beat is cold, cruel, and static, the bass player plays as if he had been paid twice, every track tastes like those glasses you drink down before paying your dues to the human race and Fabrice Gilbert's voice drips down on the whole thing with heart and gusto. In other words: shit is brutal. Fifty tons of black terror throwing ice shards on the streets of dead cities. Frustration is not your average indie/punk/post-whatever unit, especially in France. Despite little to no press and virtually no support from the mainstream media, this Parisian gang plays sold-out shows all over the country and has sold over 10,000 copies of their previous record. The reason is quite simple: in seven years, Frustration built an audience that is as diverse (punks, clubbers, skinheads, rock dads, workers, new wave amazons, temporary secretaries, fashionistas, you name it) as it is loyal (you will see most of their crowd at every damn show) and massive. An audience attracted by intense, sincere and bullshit-free records played by a bunch of intense, sincere, and bullshit-free dudes. And that's about it. No mystical soup, no boring deals.