Where? Western Australia, via Future Past Records.
Listenthru Count? Probably about ten to fifteen times.
Best when and where? Cycling around at night.
In the haze of “Glow Bugs / Pool” the fluorescent altershaping light ledges encrusting Council House are slowly awakening. The usually turbulent lawnmowers are being drawn down through the soil by the rippling tendrils of grass they once manicured. Cars rust, trees writhe, pavement cracks. Unraveling vines of synth bubble and summon the first patter of drums. The night is young and the lights on Council House, now alert, are gathering energy. They fire slow, highly-concentrated neon rays at whatever seems most resistant. Traffic lights melt under the pressure, their steel beams bending over like dank bits of licorice on an intense summer’s day. Human beings are transformed into whirling fireflies, and a bright array of steel drums chatter away in celebration. As the rays soak the streetscape a cloud of creatures burst from the ground, little nocturnal-eyed reptilian-monkeys interlocking in a saliva-drenched kicks and yelps. About 13 minutes and 15 seconds into all of this and the chaos of initial transformation eventually subsides, yielding to the feeding habits of a newly formed array of creatures with capes of liquid steel and lawnmower blades for teeth.
“Strange Eden” is the still-bubbling residue of “Glow Bugs” licked clean by a bus-sized, metallic panther. It slinks through the city preying on a stray car, diamond teeth puncturing tire and axle in an effortless crunch. “Sumertime” warps forward another few hundred years. Little remains of Council House save for a single undulating miasma of light, the coagulated remainder of a hundred years of oozing neon packed into a 3 x 3 cube. Everything within a ten mile radius of this cube is just quivering dust. You walk over this inert outstretched mass, towards the light… the twanging guitar and rigid, inwardly-collapsing percussion should be warning enough, yet you venture on. You are somewhere in the sleepy borderland of a confused and blurry-eyed dream; grey clouds roll together to form a nebulous halo around the emergent moon and from the west a raven-feathered embroidery of nightfall drowns out everything else. Your subterranean imagination unravels, accompanied by piercing stabs of Mediterranean synth. Everything fades to black.
You awaken to the clamorous chimes and stop-start guitar of “Up, Enenra,” feeling dazed yet at peace. You are in an enormous chamber, its ancient stone walls are the colour of fading sunlight and they stretch as far as you can comprehend. A youthful chorus of human voices echoes in from somewhere above and they guide your mind’s eye to a dimensional rift opening just ten meters from where you’re standing. The widening rift spits out reams of trailing and gurgling synth-lines whose energy is tangible and coils around your wrists and ankles, pulling you in. You don’t care. Your blood is warming. It’s very peaceful.
- Sneeks
“Strange Eden” is the still-bubbling residue of “Glow Bugs” licked clean by a bus-sized, metallic panther. It slinks through the city preying on a stray car, diamond teeth puncturing tire and axle in an effortless crunch. “Sumertime” warps forward another few hundred years. Little remains of Council House save for a single undulating miasma of light, the coagulated remainder of a hundred years of oozing neon packed into a 3 x 3 cube. Everything within a ten mile radius of this cube is just quivering dust. You walk over this inert outstretched mass, towards the light… the twanging guitar and rigid, inwardly-collapsing percussion should be warning enough, yet you venture on. You are somewhere in the sleepy borderland of a confused and blurry-eyed dream; grey clouds roll together to form a nebulous halo around the emergent moon and from the west a raven-feathered embroidery of nightfall drowns out everything else. Your subterranean imagination unravels, accompanied by piercing stabs of Mediterranean synth. Everything fades to black.
You awaken to the clamorous chimes and stop-start guitar of “Up, Enenra,” feeling dazed yet at peace. You are in an enormous chamber, its ancient stone walls are the colour of fading sunlight and they stretch as far as you can comprehend. A youthful chorus of human voices echoes in from somewhere above and they guide your mind’s eye to a dimensional rift opening just ten meters from where you’re standing. The widening rift spits out reams of trailing and gurgling synth-lines whose energy is tangible and coils around your wrists and ankles, pulling you in. You don’t care. Your blood is warming. It’s very peaceful.
- Sneeks
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