A dissonant chorus sighs, a tumbling arpeggio falls, the wind of harmony howls, and the soup of sound goes round and round, trembling with overlapping notes. A shimmer flutters up and switches swish, joining us on the tilting halo ride. Like a childhood nightmare, a whale gapes to swallow us whole while fear wails ineffectually into the chasm. Once within, we are regurgitated back, demonstrating the reversibility of childhood fear. Things start to clear,
5m. The clearing is shorn by a distant waterfall, fraying into drops, into molecules, into protons. Science asserts itself and rotates hoops to prove new theories, until overwhelmed by the voice of ignorance in primitive song. All the themes pop up at once, selfishly over-talking each other, while the brainless rejection of the certainty of science continues, and blooms into prominence. On these frosty dark ages of capitalistic conquest we stare in shock out into the barren and frosty glow. Snowflakes tumble, and chaos ejaculates tentatively onto the icy crust.
10m. But the collective is too strong to stay down long, kicking up their heels in unison, and looking with confusion at some modern clean-swept, domestic future. The insistence throbs in a primitive beat, until surrendering to those pitiful last dry pumps of almost nothing but desire. Rubbed back up and saturated by chaotic chatter, the stroke of the random melody builds into something resembling progress in song. When it stops, a bubbling cauldron of crude oil bubbles up, and a fetid wisp of odor wafts up from the belching mess. We’re crowded with sound.
15m. The halo keeps spinning and tilting, and lands into a clearer vision of domestic bliss, slowed slightly from the long journey it took from the future into your palm. Tones drop in regular patterns into the mix, everything collapses beautifully, then stays, and squirting particles intrude from either side. Rainy days slide by, inside the iron-clad corporate window. We continue to wrestle with the devil, with the ladder, with the onslaught of fakery and betrayal. It makes life easy for some.
20m. That complaining whine reminds us that it’s all about the golden ring, as glyphs marshall themselves into giddy circles. The merry-go-round is just a launchpad for a frantic frolic through the soundwaves, as we gaze upward only, hoping to glimpse the ring where it could never be. The glyphs gather, a crescendo descends, faraway patterns plunge and climb, until everything else simply ceases to keep us from sleep.
lyrics
A dissonant chorus sighs, a tumbling arpeggio falls, the wind of harmony howls, and the soup of sound goes round and round, trembling with overlapping notes. A shimmer flutters up and switches swish, joining us on the tilting halo ride. Like a childhood nightmare, a whale gapes to swallow us whole while fear wails ineffectually into the chasm. Once within, we are regurgitated back, demonstrating the reversibility of childhood fear. Things start to clear,
5m. The clearing is shorn by a distant waterfall, fraying into drops, into molecules, into protons. Science asserts itself and rotates hoops to prove new theories, until overwhelmed by the voice of ignorance in primitive song. All the themes pop up at once, selfishly over-talking each other, while the brainless rejection of the certainty of science continues, and blooms into prominence. On these frosty dark ages of capitalistic conquest we stare in shock out into the barren and frosty glow. Snowflakes tumble, and chaos ejaculates tentatively onto the icy crust.
10m. But the collective is too strong to stay down long, kicking up their heels in unison, and looking with confusion at some modern clean-swept, domestic future. The insistence throbs in a primitive beat, until surrendering to those pitiful last dry pumps of almost nothing but desire. Rubbed back up and saturated by chaotic chatter, the stroke of the random melody builds into something resembling progress in song. When it stops, a bubbling cauldron of crude oil bubbles up, and a fetid wisp of odor wafts up from the belching mess. We’re crowded with sound.
15m. The halo keeps spinning and tilting, and lands into a clearer vision of domestic bliss, slowed slightly from the long journey it took from the future into your palm. Tones drop in regular patterns into the mix, everything collapses beautifully, then stays, and squirting particles intrude from either side. Rainy days slide by, inside the iron-clad corporate window. We continue to wrestle with the devil, with the ladder, with the onslaught of fakery and betrayal. It makes life easy for some.
20m. That complaining whine reminds us that it’s all about the golden ring, as glyphs marshall themselves into giddy circles. The merry-go-round is just a launchpad for a frantic frolic through the soundwaves, as we gaze upward only, hoping to glimpse the ring where it could never be. The glyphs gather, a crescendo descends, faraway patterns plunge and climb, until everything else simply ceases to keep us from sleep.
One of the finest rock albums from our town, mordant wit, crunchy guitars, driving beats, punk depth and - yes - Junior College Philosophy. The Change Music Variety Show
Inspired by Rio de Janeiro’s iconic Carnival Parades comes this epic synth symphony from Brazilian artist Fordmastiff. Bandcamp New & Notable Dec 3, 2022
