The idea of being a weirdo has been de-stigmatized many times over by now, but your average Joe/Jill who throws around the expression “I’m such a weirdo!” with ease would take one look at Asian Women On The Telephone (seriously, check out their Discogs page) and get all uptight and uppity, looking for an excuse to head for the exits. That’s where folks like yours truly come in. You see, once those assholes leave we take all the good seats and have the time of our goddamned lives. IVAN will never find its way to the ears of the many, which is all the more reason to celebrate their odd marches and surprisingly agile transitions into avant garde territory. Their confidence is jarring, bordering on unnerving, especially during those long stretches wherein the stage is set so deliberately you wonder if anything is going to happen. Then, a flash of purple psych dust is dropped atop, or a suffocating tunnel drone burrows its way through the simple drum-machine beat. JESUS CHRIST! Don’t assume you know what you’re going to get for the duration after imbibing the first track. There are snatches of gnarled coldwave, experimental, no-wave, electronic, post-punk, and much more to hold your much-appreciated attention. Stick around, splay your ears out, and marinate in Awott’s sweet lady-juices a bit. That’s it, smell it. It’s the only way you’ll get used to it.
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