Midday Veil
Subterranean Ritual II [CS; Translinguistic Other]

I often think of Midday Veil as the post-Thanksgiving hangover. Eyes glossy from over-indulgence, fingers greasy from ripping apart a baked carcass like Caligula — of course, this could be any sort of Ozark celebration. Midday Veil is actually a fixture of Seattle’s underground, but Subterranean Ritual II indulges in the abundance of ritualistic temptation. Sensual and mystical, Subterranean Ritual II is the rhythms of a world gone completely mad for all the right reasons. For some reason, I’m taken to the scene in Almost Famous (bear with me) when the underage journalist is deflowered by Fairuza Balk, Bijou Phillips, and Anna Paquin. It’s a PG version of True Blood without the gory disembowelments and vats of viscous blood. SRII is far from PG; it’s dirty and bloody, but it’s a delight of all the senses, Midday Veil picking up where Pocahaunted would have if they had been birthed by the Manson family. For a band that can often boast six members, everything is relatively subdued. It ratchets up the sexual tension. It’s not overt, but it exists among a psychedelic sheen of elongated whispers and Alejandro Jodorowsky. Just shed your cloths and join in the orgy of sound and sex. Caligula, fat on turkey, and heavy with wine.


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