Crushing drone and noise into a static mash, John Schofield (if indeed it is him, the credits are sketchy) builds a formidable psychedelic wall on this cracked three-tracker.
The middle untitled piece of this three-tracker clambers along rusted arthritic grooves, its face in a pillow bellow sounding like a reversing engine grunt. But it’s the first and last of these three tracks that satisfy the most, finding a space between isolationism and monochrome psychedelia. Flirting with Haino-esque notes run through a Dead C filter, the loose metallic strings ring out like spiralling bells through the dimness. The unpeeling, shining black sounds deep inside these two pieces takes them light years away from run-of-the-mill feedback sourced rust jobs.
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