Krem ôn’ Wo͝ol
Shlubby Dreamer [CS; Self-Released]

I write this review with a guilty conscience because I made Krem ôn’ Wo͝ol (turns out it’s dude from Florida=Death, which is RAD) send another tape, then found the ORIGINAL tape he sent buried in fecal matter in the corner of my record room TODAY, just as I sit down to finally jot thoughts on this fucker. But never fear: This is what I do. I can maintain even in the face of mounting pressure and anxiety, believe-me-you-me. You. Shlubby Dreamer is a wonderfully titled new tape that’s limited to a DISGUSTING 20 copies (really man? you think the Florida=Death-heads won’t hoard these?), a number that will offend you even more once you hear how DOPE these schlubby-bubby drone tunes tend to be. A few contain themselves to specific, cluttered climes like mini-snowglobes spiraling in space, maybe a little like Ian Middleton’s Well of Sorrows LP, while others drift and drone in a more traditional manner, yet better than most of the hordes of tone hoarders out there. I don’t know how certain ambient-style artists stand out above the rest, as I’ve tried to create home-run drones myself and come out wondering what the trick is. Well, whatever trade secrets exist for next-level tape flippers, Krem ôn’ Wo͝ol has got them stashed away in his skull someplace and he’s putting them to superb use. My standout-track pick is “Gender Non-specific,” a track that could easily nestle itself into several Posh Isolation releases, scratchy, echo-drenched, mysterious, and HEAvy in its own revolting way. Another stunner is “Umbiblical,” a nicely titled cut that begins to show the fault lines separating Krem from his peers. He’s willing to scream (I think that’s what those are) to get your attention, and not only that, he’s packing several other layers into this aural funnel cake until it starts to resemble one of those crowded Kaoscillator Pro compositions we’ve all tracked at a musician friend’s house. The kicker is that Krem ôn’ Wo͝ol makes it look easy even as he’s defying every (admittedly appealing) convention laid down by the Tabs Out generation. “Fuck, Wasted My Youth” might be the best title of all, not to mention one of the strongest offerings, whirling an unidentifiable sonic mass together with a breakdown that sounds like… wow, I might be lost for words for the first time in my entire ridiculously lucky life. Be a Shlubby Dreamer as long as you can, because pretty soon, no matter how old you are, life is going to kick your ass and prevent you from discovering these bug farms bustling under giant indie-scene rocks. I feel for you, but the ball’s in your court. If this tape is even in print (there’s no way it should be, at 20-deep), that is. Sigh…


Cerberus seeks to document the spate of home recorders and backyard labels pressing limited-run LPs, 7-inches, cassettes, and objet d’art with unique packaging and unknown sound. We love everything about the overlooked or unappreciated. If you feel you fit such a category, email us here.

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