alright put it this way it’s not the kind of shit you play in the park on a sunny day flying kites. it’s not dinner party background twinklings. it’s not gonna be the first dance song at any weddings you go to. billy joel will never close a concert by banging out something from this ep on the piano. though the world would be a better place if these things were true…
*sigh*.
what it is, is sound. sound as torrential electricity, grim and fizzing, and sparked-out dying, laid before us dangerously bare for all to experience. layering sustained om swathes of weeping synth and machine music guitar eruptions atopatopatop zoned acoustic twang and mumbled murmerings to create a giant weighty blanket of pagan mist and ancient heaviosity. which is a good thing people. see kommisar:
it does everything an ep should (and it is a beauty of an ep) by fucking, jiggering, experimenting, buggering with all the good ideas you ever had about making some compulsive, propulsive mangled folk record smothered in noise and hiss and muffled beats. reminding me at times of the damaged six stringsof ben chasny and his six organs of admittance or the desert/crypt thrum of the sunno))) boris collaboration.
except in the middle when tourist (part two) appears like some pounding darkwave version of arab strap. and as fucking mental as that description sounds, not only am i speaking the real true truth, it so bloody works.
