Early Sessions by Prodsib: A Lo-Fi Garage Punch Straight Outta Russia
Alright, let’s get one thing straight—this ain’t your polished Spotify playlist filler. Prodsib’s Early Sessions is raw, unapologetic, and dripping with that garage rock grit you didn’t even know you needed. Released in 2018 under the Not On Label banner, this Russian gem throws down a mix of lo-fi chaos and punky rebellion. It’s like someone took all their angsty teenage years, shoved ‘em into an old tape recorder, and hit “record.” And honestly? That’s what makes it stick.
The album kicks off with tracks like “Не Бойся” (which roughly translates to "Don’t Be Afraid")—a tune that hits harder than a vodka shot at 7 AM. The guitars are muddy as hell, but somehow it works. You can almost smell the cigarette smoke wafting through some dingy basement where this track was probably born. What gets me is how stripped-back yet intense it feels; there’s no overproduction, just pure emotion rammed down your throat. If you’re looking for perfection, look elsewhere. But if you want something real, this cut’ll grab you by the collar and shake you awake.
Then there’s “Ода Отцу Галактиону”, which sounds like a fever dream dedicated to some cosmic monk or whatever. This track shows up three times on the album—twice live and once studio—and each version slaps harder than the last. The live renditions (especially from BRC) feel chaotic, like they recorded it mid-mosh pit. There’s something about the way the vocals crack and the drums stumble—they don’t care if it’s messy because messy is the point. By the third listen, I wasn’t sure if I hated it or loved it anymore, but either way, it stuck in my brain like gum on a shoe.
Oh, and props to covering Slipknot’s “Сайкосошал” live—it’s not perfect, but damn does it show balls. Same goes for “Монастырская Тайна,” a cover of The Shaffki. These moments prove Prodsib isn’t afraid to take risks, even if they trip over themselves doing it.
So yeah, Early Sessions isn’t gonna win any Grammys. Hell, it might not even make sense half the time. But maybe that’s the charm. Maybe music doesn’t always have to be shiny and polished to mean something. Maybe sometimes it needs to be ugly, loud, and completely unhinged.
And here’s the kicker: listening to this album felt like finding a crumpled-up note in the back of a drawer years later. You don’t remember writing it, but suddenly it makes total sense. Fucked up, right?
