That fuzz-pop ripcord of a hook and the hail of neurotic referents—did they sneak in a Will Cullen Hart shout-out?—are there to divert you from the money shot: "There's nothing more sacred than you standing next to me." A potent burst of kidult lust, just in time for summer.
It's astonishing how near and dear a numbing throb becomes after just a few moments—and how devastating a lone guitar blare can seem in its pulsating wake.
Never, ever chug a case of Red Bull prior to attending live spectaculars by synth-driven prog outfits; the results probably sound a lot like "Skull."
This solo noise project of Cleveland's Wyatt Howland highlights a technique under-utilized in his genre: the warping of raw, sandpaper sound into anti-gravity funnels. "Shock" is less shock 'n' snarl than a carefully calibrated series of sucking sounds, bobbing and weaving and mutating.
Somewhere in the depths of a speakeasy, an intoxicatingly magical atmosphere entirely indistinct from immediate physical surroundings, early aughts. Q-Tip and J. Dilla on the wheels of steel, tilting a room that already exists at an unnatural angle.
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