Betty's plying these dirty reversed tones, choppy zerox zithers of old man industry... creepy organ buzzing low in the mix, suffocated by the backward shrink wrap … then, slipping into a mono-chromed landscape that has an enticing come.org pedigree to it… a distant 'through the wall dynamic' of domestic abuse… shudders n moans, weeping… muffled screams snuffed out in sudden slaps and the rip of gaffer tape… Suddenly, everything goes in a heavy rumbling direction, full of half -anaesthetized radio sibilants, swarfed skipping ropes and squashed smears... bubbling out on an aviary of cruel latex…
The flip is penned by Little Creature, and what a start…. A fuck off roar decaying away on a juicy Organum scraping. Distorted vox, all hell owled… like some meth-hed clanger… moaning away in flanged déjà-vu’s… The clamour, suddenly chopped back to an electro acoustic bang n twang … a bluesy vox, as if Muddy Waters was a distorted animal sucking on a tracing paper comb… He’s really throwing the tool box at this… Contrasty textures and near silence …. Thumb piano droplets with hobo hum... Is that clanking cutlery or loose teeth?… All wiped away on a squeezebox murmur … Sonic desecration is the word, a patchwork of introspective noise and sleep deprived mental states… with a surprise folksy finale of such genteel fingerwork, you're left wondering if the words on the inlay are indeed the lyrics...
get yrself over to LF Records immediately.
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