Genre : Supersonic Egotrip
Label : Independent
Origin : United States
Official site : > - here - <
This review starts out with a verbatim quotation snippet taken from the official description of the perennial aim and driving intention behind this project. Here it goes: "Shadowy, intimate songs about death and destruction and friendship."
AND a healthy amount of extremities mixed into/over the placid-, massively acoustic and super-introverted monologues that constitute half of this brief but rather eventful effort, also are thoroughly audible. The album has its own and cunningly arbitrary logic, and it does not necessarily care if you can reverse-engineer that logic. The disc, as an overall experience, triumphantly manages to instill the fascinating sense into you that you are quite welcome to fuck off anytime anywhere. Sometimes you'll be able to relate, sometimes you'd love to, but you are deliberately kept from doing it, as is the case in the context of the opening track, for instance - in which very nice but very radical symbolism is on instant audio display.
Check the opening song as a conceptual statement: the actual melodic structure - vocals, harmonies, etc. - is situated in a larger-than-the-galaxy-grade white noise, and this methodology, according to my suspicions, aims to express the secretive/silent(ive), and seemingly - but falsely - quite heart wrenching assumption that you can't TRULY-, 100% tune in to a super-autonomous reality other than the "allegedly yours", not in the present human condition you have to evolve your consciousness through at the moment. I have just claimed that this illusion is not REALLY an illusion worth to lose one or a series of minds over, since, paradoxically enough, what prevents you from tuning to "another" reality, is the very bundle of the ego-burdens and ego-liabilities you want to release. There is no fundamental difference between the awareness that seeks to approach, appreciate and comprehend "another" awareness, because they are fundamentally one already. But this, of course, is not so, if you are separating yourself from everything else deliberately. THEN you can be a false you. You can do that, and this disc is fervent at doing so. Read on to know more about this.
The disc sounds to be honest to the astral bone and spirit meat in its commitment to face everyday average ego fears at face value, and facing these fears are still the hardest thing to do for most of the planet population, - Nietzsche probably would like the word "planet popullution", harharharharhahr (good one, Zoltan! - Friedrik) - as facing your fears is your favorite act to postpone. On a brighter note-, even, on a brighter tone : the album has a nice understanding of how to construct quite fine and intriguing harmonic passages on a sole acoustic guitar. Cufk heay!
The disc poses modal/morose questions, because it maintains the right to radiate the mood of a used and lost sock, and sees if its ever-present (not necessarily articulated, but present) noise commands you back. The album sometimes takes advantages of the opportunity to offer clever lights on its mere irony and toy-bitterness. "Well, the street is full of assholes, and you can't kill everyone" - good to know you planned to! As listener, you probably can relate to this thought, but then you should not attempt to escape the dreadfully plausible conclusion that the person next to you on the street might just have this exact same thought herself/himself, projected though unto you! The HORROR! The MADNESS! "Fakes! I'm the ONLY real person in this metro cab!" This is the All Time Favorite Evergreen Delusion of every person in every metro cab, trust - ME!!1one, and the disc is pretty slick for pointing this out. What am I getting at? Oh, I'm getting at "teh" f.e.a.r. - > False Evidence Appearing Real. This disc exhibits what is essential in confronting the fear. It exhibits the COURAGE, and you can have some or all of it for free. What's not to like?
You can check the effort out here.
GyZ at Bandcamp.
If you want, check out my music
and / or
Buy me beer.
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