The first side is a slow burner, a subtle spin of vibrating air caught in apprehension, an archaeology that distils in slight oscillatory wobbles and haemorrhagic gyration... Working itself up in a Teutonic procession, lightly punch bagged, goaded in slow percussion... … A synth underbelly, hooking, scooping at the broken pads in ritualised cosmogony. The echoed elastic of beat, pared back on a lonesome drone, navigating towards some tasty tunnelling of aboriginal bush craft ... flooded in tangled key candy and whirry jigs... The resulting goo, a hypno-snake-eyed spiral drilling for your cortex on a release of raspy dragonflies...
The flip starts out on a radio tower of wiry waves... orbiting satellites of some darkened flux then dropping distinctly granular, a swarming buzz drawn away in spooky gulls and haunted Cetacean bleeds. An ultramarine that's fed into a sticky glucose bubbling of hissy spectrals. Finally overtaken in the hum of some submerged industry, slowly asphyxiated on ever gaseous exhales of its own propellant...
Top notch ambience in anyone's book...
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