In the midst of crude musical mechanics, the alphabet is poorly recited. Concerns regarding the noise, as well as brass bottoms, needle through, up from the backdrop.
Bathe the eel in baby oil, washing off its grains of ungrounded signals and Fostex haze. Down in the eel pit — with the VHS — the ribbons dance, coated in slime, slapping firm skin as the pit participants collide in the blowouts, landing on accordion bellows stretched into chaotic design. Folding and stretching. Hot moisture builds inside the trumpet valves. The drops dye patch cables.
The floor — covered in grains, ribbons, slime, bellows, baby oil, and mouth moisture — enables a sluggish and soggy slapstick routine.
• Meterorismo Records: http://meteorismorecords.blogspot.cz
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