Tapes with actual frickin’ lasers attached to their heads definitely make a lot of sense coming from the Laze-Pal axis (which has changed from Denver to Chicago, reportedly), and Space Burn back up their quests with dusty rave beats, one or two layers of rhythmic accompaniment, and unexpected rejoinders like string squeaks and jungle howls. Space Burn represent the ongoing movement of groups that want to make you dance and at the same time confuse you to the point of total impotence. I’m guessing with a tab of something-or-other and a head full of sweat-inducing steam, this post-rave conglomeration makes more sense. Me? I find myself initially fascinated by each track but watch-glancing after the first few minutes. Still a neat trip though, full of florescent green/yellow/pink/blue and flashy enough to ensnare the minds of listeners more attuned to commercial acts than the average Cerberus fare. In other words, you could slip Space Burn to a teen and more often than not get a more positive reaction than you’re witnessing hear. HEAR. Ya dig?
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