Fuelled by caffeine and cheap vodka, Toxic Frock were rarely a serious band, yet their songs blended intense political commentary with a tongue-in-cheek lyrical aesthetic reminiscent of The Cramps or Alien Sex Fiend.
Born from the ruins of the early net.goth scene their interests were a melange of techno-lust and necrological social decay, served up with a side-course of pile-driving crunch.
As a studio project working outside the conventional framework of gothic rock, their sound owed more to the raw energy of Iggy and The Stooges and other early punk acts than it did to the tribal anthems of the Mission or the Sisters of Mercy.
Featuring the vicious double vocal assault of Jane and Alexa, often battling for space amidst Eleanor's demented 6-string ravings, the surface impression of wilful dissonance is belied by the solid bedrock of David's melodic bass and Sarah's primal drumming. Combined with the sophistication of their lyrical expression the senses are left battered, bleeding and confused.
This is not music for relaxation but an exultant hymnal to anarchic excess. You will never see this band live, never experience the tawdry disappointment associated with so many clay-footed musical legends. This is a band whose music reaches beyond the grave to stab two bloodied fingers in the air and scream a defiant "Fuck You!" at the bloated corpse of consumer-friendly unit shifters that passes for modern alternative music.
To quote Iggy "We don't hate you, we don't even care."