Japan's [wimpLink artistId="4827142"]Xinlisupreme[/wimpLink] took Fat-Cat and the world by jarring, electrical storm with their initial singles and the [wimpLink albumId="129354450"]Tomorrow Never Comes[/wimpLink] full-length. But the noise experimentalists return before anyone could run for cover, dropping the mini-album [wimpLink albumId="129393689"]Murder License[/wimpLink] through Fat-Cat's "Splinter Series" CD arm. [wimpLink albumId="129354450"]Tomorrow[/wimpLink] was defined by juxtaposition, flawlessly playing delicate relent off strobe-lit explosions hardwired to the eyelids. Perhaps unsurprisingly, [wimpLink albumId="129393689"]Murder[/wimpLink] makes mincemeat of such subtleties. While there are fleeting moments of respite, it is an album preoccupied with frightening, crashing, unending noise -- the sound of industrial culture cannibalizing itself. "I Drew a Picture of My Eyes," "Sakae," "Front of You" -- these pieces build from thrumming basslines to staccato .50-caliber percussion drops, and the forlorn, fatalistic mutterings of humans being eaten by iron smelters. The opening title track is similarly distorted; however, it layers a wayward, keening synth over the chaos, suggesting [wimpLink artistId="18695"]the Cure[/wimpLink]'s "Just Like Heaven" played backward by berserkers. Later, "I.T.D.O.O.M." discovers a lonely, flute-like instrument wallowing in a world of breezy, grimy manhole covers. The instrument repeats its simple scale as sickly sweet air swirls through sluiceways, and it's calming, to a degree. Still, it's clear the bone-shattering aural grime of [wimpLink albumId="129393689"]Murder[/wimpLink]'s more crippling material is never far away. The album closes with "Count Down," a flawless blend of its two extremes. Fractured beats scatter like cicadas unleashed over a pounding industrial rhythm. Somewhere a melody develops, down beneath the blast doors and corrugated grating. But the machines eventually, finally burn through, silencing [wimpLink albumId="129393689"]Murder License[/wimpLink] in peels and tears of charred shrapnel. ~ Johnny Loftus