This is experimental music for people with their safety goggles firmly strapped on. Abstraction for people who enjoy the quirkiness of computer-cooked compositions peppered with unnecessary production hiccups, twerks and tweaks. Knee jerks and restlessness fiends, for those fidgety ones that can't sit still whilst the Coming Attractions play out, needing to Instagram a photo of their empty popcorn box to pass some time. Probably right up the alleyways of the non-comital musical sheep on the other side of a particular generational divide, those that choose prescription parties over cones in a park. Those disgusting folks who secretly love pop music because they're only Human, but will never admit it publicly because "Rihanna is for glossy magazine, tweenage idiots".
Centipede Hz feels purposefully disjointed, built around forced patchwork abnormalities and obscurities pasted in unnecessarily large font, rolled into oversized paper pipes and forcefully rammed into your mindsoaker. There's no underlying expression here. Nothing is said. Or if it is, it's suffocated under an infinite number of cluttered cranium kinks and conflicting counter-points, as The Collective rally against each other, dragging the creations of their combatants into a messy underworld where ideas clash and everyone refuses to take the reigns. This isn't collaborative creative work fused together, but rather separate thought-patterns, ignorant individualism and musical anarchy molded into an ugly, disfigured beast.
Much like their previous jaunts, Centipede Hz is void of any logical entry point. Most destructively, it's once again built around the band's insistence of maintaining that point of separation. Everyone and everything is kept at arm's distance. We watch, we soak in the forcefully inserted sharp turns that these self-defined mad professors amuse themselves with. But we're not included, we're not part of this. As a piece of artwork hanging on the wall of your local digital-only music shoppe it's an enjoyable little adventure. But as a snippet of modern pop music, defined as such by the audible sounds it attempts to combine, it's a disastrously forced mess of creative confusion.
And don't even think about rebutting with the argument — "that's the point".