Gloryhole - Gloryhole (1990)

 

It seems impossible to believe that it's been almost 50 years since Gloryhole's debut album hit the charts, sending dancefloors everywhere into a priapic frenzy. That might be because it's only been 34 years, but even so, this Hi-NRG, ballsy beat-ridden bonanza feels forever lost; sucked into a timewarped gloryhole of its own, if you will.

The pet project of New York producer Chase Brumby and electronics whizzkid Kizz 'The Whizz' Jizzworth, it's a full 12 inches of thick, hardcore, pulsating passion that penetrates deeply. Just five tracks fill the 72 minutes, and three of those are arguably extended remixes of the other two, but that's splitting stray pubic hairs.

A seminal album in every sense, the opening epic Talk to the Glans pretty much defined the genre of 'Hard Bath House', such as it briefly was, while the sampled vocals on Too little, too late sparked a years-long debate on who the mystery singer might or might not be, or whether anyone was actually singing at all. Either way, the controversial lyrics are quite a mouthful, and difficult to get ones head around, even to this very day.

This is a truly joyous record that rewards repeated listening - at the time it was not uncommon for listeners to play the album on their way to a club, where it would be played in its entirity on repeat, and then to listen to it again on the way home! And then complain that they hadn't listened to it enough!

But the brightest stars shine only briefly; a less successful follow-up appeared in 1992, before the duo went their separate ways, to separate deaths from HIV-AIDS in the late 1990s.

 

Lyricz

 "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! That's right, that's right, that's right!

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! As I previously alluded, that's right!"


 

 

Discographicalz

  • Gloryhole (1990)
  • Fancy Dan Salad (1992)

 

 

Personal Recollectionz by @lolbertz

I first heard the unmistakeable sound of Gloryhole on one of my frequent visits to the Long Rainbow sauna in Brighton. (I had originally mistaken the sound for local DJ Paul Frenum, or perhaps a variable-pitch pulsating dildonic fist.)

It was a night that shall be remembered until it is forgotten. The repetitive rhythmic pulse got my whole body convulsing involuntarily. Also, there was some music playing.

By sheer coincidence, I had just acquired a copy of the record on 12 inch vinyl - as many of us remarked at the time, 'maybe 12 inch scuplted, super-realistic silicon would've been more appropriate!' We adjourned to the Pink Elver nightspot where they popped it onto the spindle and we partied long and hard into the night.

Perhaps the most curious thing of all is the number of homosexuals I encountered that day.

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