Product Magazine 09/00
LOUDER THAN BOMBS.

Giant Tank's first ever assault on the live arena was a shambolic provocation of depth-charge proportions, an incendiary noise designed to annoy. This non-collective's squalling debut in Edinburgh's Fruitmarket Gallery made passing cafe trade flee. Hardly earth-shattering, but it did suggest that music still has the power to scare, as well as amuse.

For giant tank's junk shop collision of blaring horns, scraped fiddles and anything goes approach comes on like a sixth year music soc who've just discovered Sun Ra and situationists after a night on the razz injecting cough medicine into each other's eyeballs. They have a manifesto: "go on, fuck." they are the Hybrid Offspring of Beevamp and rip, rig and panic, minus the tunes or the funk. They love extremes, create chaos out of order, and leave themselves nowhere to go. They are as anti-art as they come, and may not even exist by the time you read this. They are giant tank, and they're coming to a bombsite near you.

Kate McArthur.

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