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?
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