Starts very Steven Stapleton-like with a manic woman in full-on polka-dot phobia jabbering like some Echo Poeme cut-up, well versed in disturbing vocal spikes. The next track leaping towards some brume-like contact play, electroacoustic grit in the psychic ointment. A disconcerting churn caught on a glass-rim hum diving the industrial before dipped into a dichotomy of digitised distress.
This LP chronicles Felix Kubin‘s second set of film and theatre works, and it foxtrots your headspace with a baffling dexterity. Exploiting the imaginary in scattered suspense, those sinister neoclassical gaits and clockwork crocodiles. The splintered danceabilities that excite, perplex. Beats callipered in textural-geists and Pyrolator chintz, that cross-cut and dazzle. Never a dull moment.
The industrialised wonder of “Sztylet”, its mechanised rhythmics — back-stabbed in egg wire and ceramic percussives — chiming a solid noir-like splash of zero set elastics. Thumping abbreviations with Slavic sultriness leaking through the tensile.An enjoyable jaunt of sonic athletics this, twisting the atmospheric with the smarting lemon of wide-eyed wonder.
-Michael Rodham-Heaps-