I know what you’re thinking. I’ve got the same feeling. It’s underneath my tongue though; it’s a little rough and metallic-y, like I just swallowed some pennies, and there they go, clinking around down in my chest when I walk. Johnny and Josey tried inhaling that dry ice stuff awhile back; I know because he told me. He could hardly speak though; he kept glancing over his shoulder. Was beginning to make me feel nervous, too. He said it was like an espresso shot from hell that made his heart pump at half the speed, and he was just getting used to it, and he was trying to deal with the shapes he sees at night, and that was the hardest part. I sort of leveled with him on this front. I had seen the shapes, it’s true, but not because of the dry ice. I saw the shapes because I followed them, back down the staircase that emerged from his closet and spiraled into intense heat and blinding light. I followed close, because it was easy to get lost once you reached the labyrinth, but followed far enough back so that they couldn’t smell me. I was beginning to feel really woozy, my once sense numbed by the odor emitted from the plants that grew along the walls: great prehistoric hanging fern. My body began to sway back and forth; I took steps, counted shapes, counted shapes, same number; everything will be alright, that’s for sure.
One great thing about Aloonaluna (Lynn Fister) and Motion Sickness of Time Travel (Rachel Evans) is that they will always kick ass when it comes to making music. Seriously, they’re like tag-team bosses at the end of a Super Smash Mortal Tekken Bros. Anyone’s ass. I know TMT is so hot for D Lopes that this claim will probably not stick for too long, but level with me: this is some moon cheese-level music on this split tape for Constellation Tatsu. Both artists — one operating in a conceptual, song-based structure, the other exploring a juicier slice of jam — display incredible consideration on their respective sides, combining tastefully sampled vocals and unobtrusive synth lines in a grainy soup that massages the ears rather than beats neural connections into them. If you were to break open this cassette, you’d find healthy, fibrous roots dripping with sap, repairing the wound you freshly cut with lashes of vine and verdant sunlight. The deep tendrils are the result of the adept cultivation that is so frequently lacking in more callous ambient music.