Filthy, ragged, drone-damage from the mastermind behind the insanely credible Pseudoarcana label, and recently crowned third member of Black Boned Angel. Crackle and smoldering fuzz turn over and over on itself at ever more terrifying pace until everything within its gravitational grasp begins to smell of burning plastic. Frightening, shamanic, and dare-I-suggest BLUESY (think Fushitsusha not Gary Moore!) yet set within a down-on-the-farm, Antipodean, post-Xpressway context. The future of drone. The future of rock. The future of goddamn everything! (label press)
Details
Cat. number: CPP 15
Year: 1970
