Milwaukee… You’re waiting for me to crack wise about beer but that ain’t me dawg. It’s all about the Impure Gold Pt. I; I’m too busy kicking back with Mr. Woods, Peter J. to be exact, as he spools together roughshod noise, Jeff Keen-/Orchid Spangiofora-esque sampledelica, harsh, high-pitched endurance tests, Wolf Eyes screaming over simmering scrambled eggs, and other such communications from the heart of his home state. I’m to the point where the title track’s brown mush of noise goulash is sounding contrived, but that’s only four minutes of this half-hour behemoth. Much more subtlety is afoot on the other two cutz. “Notes from Within” is the linchpin of the entire golden enterprise, whispering darkly into your ear and blowing static dust into your personal space. Then it seems as if a sprayer is malfunctioning; isn’t that a form of torture, to not know when the hot mist is going to hit your skin? You decide.
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