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Haptic's technique is simple and direct. They begin both sides of their debut LP on Flingco Sound with metallic, but somewhat indecipherable drones. After introducing this trembling, often uncertain base, Haptic slowly breathes a plethora of tiny details into their music. The sensation is, at first, a disorienting and troubling one. I mistook several sounds on the record for sounds occurring outside my window. As the sounds intensified, I began to wonder what kind of thing was lurking about just feet away from me. Sizzling fire, dragging feet, muffled voices, bouncing balls, the buzz of electricity, and the whir of motors all find a place for themselves on The Medium. These bits of noise, samples, and odd productions are arranged such that they form convincing and detailed narratives. Within minutes of firing up "One" a complete and almost intrusive scenario had formed in my mind. I could see a weary and worn character shuffling down my street with a drained look upon his face. I could see the cigarette in his hand and I could hear the thoughts crushing his brain into a single-minded state. As he stares off into space and as "One" proceeds to work its magic, all manner of details are added to this picture. The drones turn into buzzing lights and the minutiae produced by the band turn into streams of thoughts and uncollected fragments of ideas. The progression of both songs is like peering into the mind of someone fixated on some premise or memory. The point is that their music is strikingly cinematic and well-sequenced. Their arrangements are obviously thought out and carefully planned or their improv skills are of the highest order. Either way, both sides of this record have an odd and satisfying logic about them.
Most of the sounds employed by the band are organic. Haptic's instruments, whether they be cymbals or boxes filled with junk, are largely naked, so it is easy to believe that what sounds like a piece of burning paper is in fact just a piece of burning paper. I highly doubt this is the case, but such nudity amplifies the band's potency. Not only do they craft shifting and somewhat frightening soundscapes, they produce them with objects that anyone would recognize from their everyday lives. The mix of the familiar and the unfamiliar greatly increases the album's proximity to the listener and the extent to which it can produce emotional responses. The human or emotional component of the record is emphasized by a DVD that is included with the first 100 copies of the record. Amid a progression of shimmering surfaces, video artist Lisa Slodki projects a series of human faces. Her repetitive and hypnotic technique, combined with Haptic's ghostly soundtrack, both emphasizes Haptic's cinematic side and increases the dramatic elements already present in the music. The frozen, sometimes listless faces she focuses upon are frightening in and of themselves. All of them seem lost, alone, or completely without emotion, somehow swallowed by the images projected behind them or by the music that is the occasion of their presence. The only sign of happiness is one that is affected for show. Still, Haptic's music isn't simply doom and gloom. It exudes a kind of ease and directness that makes both songs float by rather quickly. The sounds of a manipulated xylophone and gentle bass pulses push the album along and, at some points, add a jazz-like feeling to the entire affair. The band never breaks character, thoug; their droning simplicity and monolithic approach holds the album together from beginning to end. This simplicity lends the band a cool, almost untouchable aura and ultimately turns all the creeping despair they produce into noir-ish calm.
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Aside from his striking appearance (mustache and omnipresent big '70s sunglasses) and somnambulant demeanor, there is (probably) nothing particularly bizarre about Omar Souleyman. Sure, he's a character, but he is a fairly conventional and soulful vocalist and he specializes in a style of music that is rather mainstream (in Syria, of course). However, he has two secret weapons that elevate him into something wholly outlandish: lyricist Mahmoud Harbi and multi-instrumentalist Rizan Sa'id. Harbi adds an element of surreality to live performances by stoically standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Souleyman, chain-smoking and whispering lyrics into his ear. Sa'id, however, is the one that deserves most of the credit for the strangeness herein: it is his zeal for modern electronics and striking lack of musical restraint that prevents Souleyman from sounding at all like other dabke artists (a traditional style of music that accompanies line-dancing).
"Atabat" opens the album in a surprisingly tame way, as Souleyman passionately bares his poetic soul over a somber drone, punctuated by tasteful bouzok or saz fills. It is quite pleasant, but not especially unique. Notably, Souleyman sounds like he is singing through a thin layer of static or battling a microphone that just can't handle the sheer power of his world-weariness (a production quirk that is maintained for the entire duration of the album). Oddly, this works in his favor, giving his vocals a rawness and immediacy. Then, however, comes the indescribably weird and confusing "Lansob Sherek" (I Will Make A Trap), which roughly resembles an early Cabaret Voltaire trying to drown out a drunken bagpipe ensemble. I don't think my bafflement is a result of any cultural bias or lack of understanding: the distorted percussion fills and unhinged synthesizer shredding would sound clumsy, overenthusiastic, and somewhat demented in any cultural context.
Thankfully, not all of the tracks are in that vein, as Dabke 2020 compiles a variety of tracks from dozens of cassettes recorded over the last decade (as does its recently reissued predecessor Highway to Hassake). For example, "La Sidournak Sayyada" (I'll Prevent The Hunters From Hunting You) is far more accessible, as it marries a big thumping house beat to relatively unmolested traditional melodies and instrumentation. Souleyman then slows things down a bit for the next track (one for the ladies, perhaps?) with the melancholic "Jamila" (Beautiful Woman), but it is sabotaged (or enhanced?) by some over-aggressive percussion and space-y/proggy synth noodling.
"Qalub An Nas" is another frenzied party jam, which I believe is in the Iraqi Choubi style (although Middle Eastern ethnomusicology is not one my strengths). Again, the synths are a bit characteristically crazy and over the top. The same is true for "Laqtuf Ward Min Khaddak", although this track stands out from the others due to Sa'id's more liberal (and possibly arbitrary) use of effects (I definitely hear a phaser, at the very least).
The album closes in rather unexpected fashion with the slow, sensuous groove of "Kaset Hanzal" (Drinking From The Glass of Bitterness). This is probably the best song on the album in the conventional sense, as Sa'id keeps himself relatively reigned in and Souleyman's heartbroken laments are augmented with some beautiful (and untreated) violin and bouzok (or saz).
Usually, world music albums that find their way into the US are either quite serious or influential, so it was jarring to hear something come out of my stereo that initially sounded like shrill and disposable contemporary pop. After several more listens and witnessing some very amusing YouTube clips, however, I was ultimately charmed. I am not sure how much of Souleyman's unique artistic vision is intentional and how much is happy accident, but I am certain there is no other group on earth that sounds like this. Also, Souleyman's inimitable blend of passion, exuberance, and sheer absurdity make for arguably the best party music in the world. It would be nice if someone would invite me to a Syrian wedding, as it seems increasingly unlikely that I will catch any of the remaining Sublime Frequencies European tour dates.
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Elsewhere in these pages (here and here), I have addressed the bundle of contradictions embodied by Object Music founder and Spherical Objects frontman Steve Solamar, who ceased label operations in 1981 to undergo his own radical operation, resolving his inner contradictions by becoming a woman. At the time of the sessions which eventually became Sheep From Goats, Solamar's contradictions were in full flower. From the name of the project down to the absurdist, eclectic content of the album, paradox seems to have been the key artistic strategy at work here. Steve Miro chose the name The Noise Brothers, but Solamar made a point of changing the spelling of "noise" to "no/yes," in order to carry through the concept of inner contradiction. The album's recording process was somewhat unique as well, with the two Steves meeting for recording sessions over a period of months, a collaboration which produced sides one and four of the double LP. Then, the two each recorded six songs separately, which were distributed over sides two and three. This process results in an album of largely electronic, often improvised music which uses dissonance, incongruity and divergency to its advantage.
The music made by the Steves doesn't much resemble the solo work of Miro or the work of Solamar's Spherical Objects. Although there are a few moments in which he channels the same cryptic blues that he later revisited on the final SO album No Man's Land, most of Solamar's contributions are utterly dislocated and strange, wobbly synthesizer excursions that launch the gray, industrial atmospherics of Thatcherite Manchester into the outer reaches of space. By contrast, Miro recruits his wife Jill/Jae Boyer to sing on three of his tracks, delivering a suite of melancholic, psychedelic pop songs that must have sounded terribly unfashionable at the time of the album's release. Both Brothers' solo contributions are notable in their own way but without question the centerpiece of the album is the sidelong "It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time," which in some parallel universe is considered a seminal milestone of electronic music. In our universe, it is rarely considered at all, a 25-minute dirge through a burning brain, all chugging primitive drum machines and art-damaged synth drone, keyboard noodling and mostly wordless vocal improvisations by Solamar. If Steven Stapleton had decided to form a coldwave synthpop band instead of Nurse With Wound, this would have been Side A of the debut album. The closest analog I can think of for this utterly bizarre moment in post-punk history would be John Bender's incredibly obscure Pop Surgery LP, though even this comparison fails to capture the idiosyncrasies at work in The Noyes Brothers.
Boutique's reissue juggles the original tracklisting somewhat, which has the effect of making the album seem even more disorienting, as "It Seemed Like A Good Idea" comes halfway through the listening experience, rather than at the end. This decision was probably made out of pragmatics more than anything else but I appreciate the way in which it augments the album's eclecticism. Listening to Sheep From Goats multiple times, what begins to stand out are not isolated moments or individual tracks, but rather the combined effect of the album's dynamic and scattershot approach. Had the album contained only Solamar's improvised electronic excursions and "Good Idea," it might be easily pidgeonholed as another example (albeit a good one) of early 1980s proto-industrial coldwave, alongside acts like Portion Control, Fad Gadget or Absolute Body Control. However, any album which contains ingenious psych-pop nuggets like Miro's "It Must Be Vibration" alongside Solamar's mind-zapping guitar effects phantasmagoria on "Decision Time" demands to be liberated from the usual genrification schemes applied to musical movements of the past.
Although I do have a certain affection for Miro and Solamar's individual takes on bluesy post-punk, I think Sheep From Goats is at its best when the Steves stop adhering to any kind of song structure. Standout tracks include Solamar's "Pneumonia Bridge," an aquatic sound collage that transforms whalesong into the screams of seagulls, envisaging jaw harp twangs through the disorienting vision doubling of intoxication. One of the best collaborative tracks, "Bo Scat Um I.D." uses the basic building blocks of the new wave—melodic, minor-key basslines, drums, chiming guitars, oppressive synths—but disassembles them, putting them back in an order that no longer makes sense, adding Solamar's incongruous blues harp and throaty, asexual vocal yelps and moans. "Byte To Beat" is a dislocated, claustrophobic samba from another dimension, marrying the UFOs-on-heroin aesthetics of the Liquid Sky soundtrack to the logic of punk in the wake of Throbbing Gristle and Industrial Records.
Boutique's reissue tacks the lengthy collaboration "Good Question" to the end of disc two, a track originally included on the Object Music compilation Do the Maru. It represents the very last recording session by Solamar and Miro, who convene here for a piece which bears some resemblance to "Good Idea," but locates a dark urgency and Krautrock-style propulsion that the shambolic sidelong track on Sheep From Goats never finds. Soon after this collaboration, Solamar quit the music business altogether, and Miro only ever recorded one further album. Boutique's reissue of The Noyes Brothers is an incredible document, an intriguing collection of false starts and loose ends, musical question marks without an answer, experiments which succeed because of their myriad failures. It is complex and evocative soundtrack to the Ballardian, posthuman landscape of early-1980s Manchester, and the mental landscape of artistic methods, creative tensions and gender identities captured in a state of flux.
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It is immediately obvious that Up-Tight have upped their game since their last studio releases. Both Lucrezia and Up-Tight & Makoto Kawabata had that typical PSF Records Japadelica sound, they hit all the right spots and were shit heavy when they needed to be. However, now they seem to be following their ultimate influences, The Velvet Underground, into a wider creative territory. Each of the four pieces that make up The Beginning of the End sound like they could have been from a different but equally great band (exactly what made the Velvets so good).
The first side of the LP opens with “Our Own Portrait” which sees Up-Tight move away from their Les Rallizes Dénudés Junior image and into something even more psychedelic; primal drumming and an insistent bassline allow for Tomoyuki Aoki to unleash some fantastic fuzz guitar. This is followed by “A Song for Your Pain” which is a gentle, sleepy ballad with, of course, more fuzz guitar solos. It is more in line with the quieter parts of previous Up- Tight albums and is the one moment on the LP where they play it safe. Though playing it safe for this band is still something special.
The second side is a different kettle of fish as an oppressive bass buzz and distant cracks of guitar herald in (the aptly titled) “The Destruction.” As the drums join in the din, Up-Tight start to take on the form of early Boris yet create a wall of noise with more power, mass and menace than Boris ever managed to muster. By the end of the piece my turntable has almost rattled itself to pieces; it is one of the most sublime examples of noise freakout to come from Japan (and that in itself is some achievement). The title track rounds off the album, seeing the trio return to a more familiar style. It brings to mind the live jams that appear on the 2007 reissue of the eponymous debut: a languid rhythm and years of reverb drenching the guitar and vocals.
By far this is the best thing Up-Tight have put their name to. It covers all the things that makes Japanese psychedelica interesting to me; the extremes of bludgeoning noise and the delicate beauty without ever becoming something clever for the sake of being clever. The Beginning of the End is worth every mistaken or wayward purchase from the Japanese section of record store, it is superb.
This album is currently vinyl only so unfortunately no sound samples at this point in time, apologies!
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Perhaps all too aware of their obscurity, the liner notes by LTM's James Nice go out of their way to connect John Bisset-Smith and Grow Up to the lively Manchester scene in the late 1970s, playing up the MMC connection as a way to drop some famous names: Joy Division, The Passage, Crispy Ambulance, etc. Perhaps this kind of name-dropping is inevitable, but it seems unfortunate in the case of Grow Up, who possess an idiosyncratic sound that seems to have been conceived largely in a state of obvliousness about their contemporaries, both temporally and geographically. I can't think of anything else that sounds quite like Grow Up. Though all of the elements in isolation aren't unique, taken together they add up to a strange hybrid that is intriguing, eminently listenable, and hints at greater things to come (which unfortunately never materialized).
Although both of the band's full-length albums received positive reviews from the British press at the time of their release—Paul Morley of NME enthusing that the band's "ingenious, sax-propelled chamber pop" was "brilliant" and "extremely commercial"—the albums did not sell terribly well, and the band remained obscure. This was partly due to the vagaries of independent music at their particular time and place, and partly due to the sudden closure of the Object Music label, which left the band responsible for all promotion and distribution of their sophomore album. However, I don't quite hear an unjustly obscure lost treasure when I listen to the music collected on this two-disc set. What I hear is a band with an overdose of ambition; a series of false starts and isolated moments of greatness, shot through with a youthful ambition that carries it off even when the songs themselves are callow.
I am a sucker for a particularly well-conceived short song. There is something about the restraint and cleverness required to write a memorable song that clocks in at under three minutes that impresses me. Grow Up have several of these tiny gems scattered across the two albums, seven-inch singles, compilation and demo tracks that comprise this collection. The title track of the band's debut The Best Thing comes early and is perhaps the best single song the band recorded, a miniature masterpiece of vibrant, slapdash, hyperactive post-punk. Bisset-Smith fills each line with verbiage, often running well past the end of a measure. The effect is reminiscent of high school poetry, cramming too many words into each line, a glut of emotions spilling out. The horns, reeds and guitars swarm around each phrase with a glorious lack of precision, as if each song were rehearsed only once before pressing record. Other winners include the narrative "Dear Isobel," an odd rockabilly-esque song addressed to the titular punk girl, the plea of a young rebel and ne'er-do-well to an out-of-reach girl who meets an untimely and tragic end. Steven Westwood's trombone is particularly successul at carrying the song's melody, which continues seamlessly into the next song "Do You Want To Dance," suggesting that Bisset-Smith conceived the album as a coherent whole, rather than a series of songs.
Without Wings is a worthy follow-up, evidencing a maturing in the band's sound, but also less of the messy impulsiveness of the debut. Bisset-Smith's vocals are often effected with superfluous reverb that unecessarily adds a distance to the intimate lyrics. Also, the band's accuracy has improved, complex arrangements turning on a dime. Even though some of the loose charm is gone, there are still many highlights on the album. More terse pop gems in the bratty "Becoming" and the funky "Flying Fish." "The Boy" is a standout track, a sad and quirky story-song that moves through several different movements with ease, making poignant use of call-and-response vocals. Songs like this one could easily fit in on the Cherry Red label; bands like The Monochrome Set and Everything But the Girl; they are witty, musically complex but also breezy and lightweight. The sophomore album also demonstrates more of the band's affection for 1950s rockabilly and the burgeoning neo-swing jazz sound, influences which haven't aged particularly well, but Bisset-Smith and co. make the most of it on tracks such as "The Hypnotist" and "The Double Act." The instrumental track "GGGDADGADADAD," drawn from a seven-inch released in 1980, shows the band at its most prankish, the literalism of the title provoking an amazing stop/start, stuttering Beefheart-ian jam.
The collection ends with a pair of unreleased studio demo recordings—the last made by the group before they disbanded—which offer tantalizing hints at future iterations which were never to materialize. "Do Choose" lacks the horns which characterize the rest of Grow Up's output, though it still contains a seemingly effortless pop hook. "Black Cat Is Back" is psychedelic, alliterative beat poetry recited against dislocated guitar and flute with a field recording of a child talking the background. How this material might have slotted into a third album is anyone's guess, and a question that will never be answered. Although the LTM demographic is generally the intrepid listener of post-punk rarities, Grow Up seems to evade ghettoization, making music that has appeal well outside this obsessive coterie.
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Side A features a glassy guitar and synth shimmer over a dreamy analogue synth rhythm. As with many of Emeralds’ works, the piece changes ever so slightly over its course (which is definitely on the short side when it comes to this group). Melodies never seem to repeat and even the tempo appears to mutate towards the end. The trio are pushing the sound they explored on last year’s What Happened and they are pushing in the right direction.
Side B is more similar to soundscapes they employed on Solar Bridge and on their many tape releases. Slowly evolving and revolving drones create a deep backdrop for Mark McGuire’s guitar to shine like starlight on a clear night. Unfortunately, the constraints of the format mean that it is all over too soon (even with it being a 33 RPM 7”). However, Fresh Air is yet another exceptional release from Emeralds so even a few minutes of audio bliss is worth the money.
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Tibet’s mythology grows more and more esoteric with each album, a blend of his own internal imagery and biblical terror (stemming from his ongoing obsession with scripture and study of Coptic in order to get closer to the source). “Almost in the beginning was the murderer” states the child’s voice at the beginning of the album. From here on in, everything explodes as one of the best line ups yet for Current 93 let rip. Alex Neilson’s drumming sounds like thunderclaps at the end of the universe as layers and layers of guitars, feedback and distorted vocals tear through reality. During “On Docetic Mountain,” fragments of the familiar folk strains haunt the works of Current 93 swim through the surging pulse, creating a thick and disorientating experience which brings to mind Thee Silver Mt. Zion at their most raucous. Bill Breeze’s viola and John Contreras’ cello sound almost regal amidst the grinding fuzz that the rest of the group are pouring out. Later on, the rock swamps everything; guitar solos that can only be described as shambolic, face melting blasts of white heat cut through a doom-laden riff on “Not Because the Fox Barks.” There is a first time for everything in life and playing air guitar along to Current 93 is one of them.
With no particular focus beyond a general feeling and Tibet’s vision(s), Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain sticks out like a monolith in Current 93’s canon. Fears that this album would be a disparate work breaking under the weight of Tibet’s many collaborators were completely unfounded. Andrew W.K. and Sasha Grey may be famous for things quite different to Current 93 (as every single article or Internet discussion related to this album seems to dwell on) but they sound as home here as any Current 93 regular. Grey’s detached vocals on “As Real As Rainbows” are a world away from her usual performances (researching for reviews can be a very tough job) and she provides a sober and melancholy ending for such a vivid and energetic album.
Aside from some of the electronics and effects dotted throughout Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain and the knowledge that it is just out this week, it would be difficult to place this album in time. It could easily be one of those obscure gems that was on the Nurse With Wound list; in fact it sounds almost like the perfect lost treasure from rock’s past. “26 April 2007” has a desert rock vibe but instead of the The Eagles and images of the great plains of America, the music instead conjures up visions of dusty vistas in northern Africa with wanderers trying to find their way back to Eden.
James Joyce once said: "It took me ten years to write Ulysses, and it should take you ten years to read it." While I am not going so far to say (yet) that this album is of the same magnitude as Ulysses the principle holds true here as Tibet and his colleagues have put two years of hard work into making this album the monument it is. Steven Stapleton and Andrew Liles have worked their wizardry in post-production to create the layers of sound that form the base of Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain, the level of detail buried in the mix is astounding. With each listen there are further revelations, a warped David Tibet as backing vocalist here and a loop of noise there. I imagine that it will be some time before I have exhausted all of the album's secrets.
With an album as epic as this, it is virtually impossible to sum it up succinctly. It is awesome in that from the opening moments to the dying seconds, I am taken aback by the intensity and conviction. As a listener, Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain drains and exhausts; that Tibet can pull so much emotion from his soul and still function is nothing short of astonishing.
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Ringing for the Begin Again begins like any other Constellation album, delicate and mournful strings on “The Bringer” by the label’s resident violinist Jessica Moss and gently hammered xylophone combine to make a beautiful and moving introduction to the album. McKenzie’s vocals sound like a lived-in version of Xiu Xiu’s Jamie Stewart, lilting in the rhythm of Moss’s bowing. His lyrics on this piece and elsewhere on Ringing for the Begin Again have a poetic quality that fits like a glove with the dreamy music. “The Living Light” is easily one of the best songs of the year; the driving rhythm combined with McKenzie’s almost religious singing makes a huge impression with each play through the album.
An entire album like this would be epic but Elfin Saddle have other, equally wonderful things to offer. Honda is the second vocalist in the group and sings exclusively in Japanese. Her songs have a very different tone to them compared to those sung by McKenzie, the music taking on a different beat to match the delivery of her carefully placed syllables. “Sakura” and “The Procession” have a delicate music box quality (although the presence of tuba on the latter track certainly beefs it up), Honda’s voice haunting the melodies. Honda’s crowning achievement however comes with “The Ocean” which complements the tone of “The Bringer” and bookends the album nicely.
It is hard to get these songs out of my head after listening to Ringing for the Begin Again, even the songs in Japanese stick in my brain for hours. Elfin Saddle combine incredibly infectious songwriting with a real passion that sets them apart from other quirky indie acts. Being based in Canada and with the huge list of instruments used on the album (guitar, ukulele, saw, drums, accordion, banjo, xylophone, tuba, violin, etc.) they could easily mistaken as a Broken Social Scene “everything including the kitchen sink” kind of band but they have a simplicity and humanity to them that the likes of Broken Social Scene lack.
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Some of the pieces are intentional details of singular sonic elements: both the opening "nchr.01" and "nchr.03" focus exclusively on singular stringed instrument sounds, left to repeat for lengthy periods with only the most minute changes in dynamics and layering. The changes and variations are there, but are extremely subtle, with more electronically effected sounds serving more as accompaniment to the organic sounds rather than being the dominant focus.
This is a pretty stark contrast to tracks like "pvn.," which opens with subtle ambient tones and cricket-like loops, while plucked string notes are there and clearly defined, the focus becomes much more on the processed sonic elements, via spacey pitch bent tones and more low frequency percussive thuds. The final minutes of the track pile on the effects and noises to a level of pure chaos. This dynamic carries over into “l. fll.” which, though opening with a large pastiche of silence, eventually becomes dominated by digital clicks and cuts over plucked string notes. Piano sounds are allowed to appear in their natural state for most of the piece, but the digital elements are much more the focus.
Unfortunately, these tracks are almost too chaotic for their own good, and the shift from subtle repetition to erratic texture shifts is a jarring one. Tracks like the symphonic "nchr.04" are among the most satisfying, balancing the natural with the digital well.
This is a good debut release, and the concept of limiting ones self to a single sound to create an entire piece is a good one, and definitely goes beyond the limitations of a Boss DD-5 delay pedal that Akifumi Nakajima was too reliant on, but the actual structure and composition needs more attention. A greater focus on development and sequencing as opposed to just a quick transition between moods and textures would be a definite asset to future releases.
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