With Little Bodie somebody’s bouncing off a rubber wall, the aftermath a multiple image shaker fizzing gently in the ears, then a high pitched atonal weave of amplifier literally grazes your skull with deep and ugly graffiti. Fashion Blog Whatevah sprays about in scraped guitar filigree, falling over itself in Cageian vice as slow burning shapes dance the tongue in submarinal thuds and lite squalls of latex sucking that gradually sounds like a slaughter of humming birds. The hilariously entitled Go Out w/ Crap in Your Pants is a mouthwash of buzzing filings that drills a singularity into your head, an Amazon bug infestation of metallic wing friction, opening out to some excitable guitar/electronic abuse that too quickly falls into a pinpricked tonal send off. Small but infinitely fully formed, Gay Control Icon rules, wiping away all that Christmas excess.
With Little Bodie somebody’s bouncing off a rubber wall, the aftermath a multiple image shaker fizzing gently in the ears, then a high pitched atonal weave of amplifier literally grazes your skull with deep and ugly graffiti. Fashion Blog Whatevah sprays about in scraped guitar filigree, falling over itself in Cageian vice as slow burning shapes dance the tongue in submarinal thuds and lite squalls of latex sucking that gradually sounds like a slaughter of humming birds. The hilariously entitled Go Out w/ Crap in Your Pants is a mouthwash of buzzing filings that drills a singularity into your head, an Amazon bug infestation of metallic wing friction, opening out to some excitable guitar/electronic abuse that too quickly falls into a pinpricked tonal send off. Small but infinitely fully formed, Gay Control Icon rules, wiping away all that Christmas excess.
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