The song fades in with the sound of an electric hum. A needle scratches and changes to a percussion turned jumbled, jazzy mess. These sounds mix with an array of twinkling bursts; light and flighty. The record skips, and then dissolves into a glitch collection that combines with the return of the percussive. The glitches continue and alternate with the drums until a point of winding down. The record skips. Now, longer iterations of sounds begin to loop and repeat. Noises become more distinguishable; isolated and yet more recognizable. I find myself becoming attached to these loops, their repetitive patterns singing in my ears. Ultimately, these moments lose out to the audible chaos. Xylophones lead to a section of distortion - tape being pulled through a player too fast. A keyboard becomes a drone, leading to a final moment that feels abrupt, rushed, unfinished. Who would have thought that stopping these sounds at their audible climax would leave the listener wanting more?