On the continuum of survivable biomes, you’d have to place me closer to Irkutsk than Ibiza. The Allegheny Mountains don’t get nearly as punishing as the former, but we certainly lack in the palm-laden escapism of the latter. Consider us damned if we let that difference stop us from enjoying Sorcerer’s brand of solar grooves. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little sun with our deciduous disco but “Tape Dreams” doesn’t need obscene Balearic sunshine or trappings to be sublime (re: mellow as fuck). Clear out the muted leaves for the by the river side, bring out the dying boombox just in time for sunset psilosynth revelry.
It’s not exactly the tropics, or anywhere close for that matter but I’m sure Sorcerer won’t mind us jamming to this dreamy tape in our muddy corridor of nature.
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