PHOTO: SALEMIn a year of regurgitation of forgotten classics and unearthed gems – otherwise known as edits – it's nice that a story of moderate underground success can shine like a tarnished sheet of corrugated metal fashioned into some sort of award for being generally awesome. SALEM are one such entity.In 2008 they beamed with strobing black light straight to the bitter hearts of poor indie students and rich kid designer-miserablists alike. They were even more appealing because you didn't hear them blasted out of every hipster's DIY disco nite at the nearest basement bar. Not that that would happen of course, because SALEM are not that kind of band – they dwell in the dark recesses of shadowy forests and the oily puddles soaking the grounds of bleak abandoned factories. Sure there's a beat that's close to grime and 2-step, but with added shades of psychotropic crack addiction and prescription drug happy-hours, tracks like "Trapdoor" arch across the bass bins of East London's grime fraternity like a flinching black rainbow with a pile of corpses at the end instead of a pot of gold.
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