Label: Bubblecore (North America)/Payola (Europe/Afterhours (Japan) Format: CD
A high-pitched crackle like the malfunction angel coming to take your stereo away. Dulcet bass repetition and skittering percussion make a strange and uneasy juxtapose of quite lovely and what’s-that-noise? A warbling, wobbling sense of trying to move around in the world. Now a homey sort of gentle creaking, a tentative whistling, and then the sax and drums – another run through the deserted streets of the city in the afternoon. It’s a very interesting kind of fuck music – the kind which needs a happy medium (volume-wise) in order to operate properly. Well, if you’re using it as fuck music, that is.
And what is music used for? How insidious is music in the Modern Age – how intimately have we grasped it to our hearts and injected it into our lives at large? Must it always have a purpose? Or can it exist solely as a work of art – it is what it is – but just what is it?
There is an unusual gentleness in the sounds – without resorting to the complete shyness of ultra-minimalism or the blank page. It’s as if insects are communicating all around the speakers and wondering which way to move, down a the tumbling waterfall of squeaks and creaks. Strings skip by like a CD as metal reverberates and the waterfall empties into a crackling, brighter land of hope and multiple EPs
-David Cotner-
