A Newbury Comics exclusive color vinyl pressing.
Hey there, human kids, lift your face out of the feed trough and pluck that feculence from your ears. Hark! A sonar blip from beneath the pile of bodies-the latest Oh Sees, Face Stabber! Boop, blip, ughhh... people churning like a boiling swamp. Man, this din is nauseating. The screen flickers for the first time this year with a transmission from two months in the future: "the internet has deemed guitar music dead and you are free to do whatever the f*** you like... long live the new flesh!" This album is Soundcloud hip-hop reversed, a far flung nemesis of contemporary country and flaccid algorithmic pop-barf. No songs about money or love are floating in the ether. Just memories, echoes, foggy blurs, blip-blop goes the scope, heavy funk, dystopia-punk canons, long jams, bloated solos dribbling down your caved-in chest. Human cattle like a beef avalanche, right on your burned out face hole. Spider-legs fuzz crawling in your brain. Lots of curse words for your mom. You've gotten the over-population blues, so let's have some art for art's sake. What else are you gonna do? Stare at the sky? Please... fifty carbon copies of you look back at you as you walk the streets. Take a breath, you're going to need it. Take drugs, you're going to need those just to stand in line at the air and water reclamation center soon enough. There's no fruit, buddy. You're at the bleak-peak. They will squeeze you till you're all squeezed out. Or fans of fried prog burn-out, squished old-school drool, double drums, lead weight bass, wizard keys (now with poison), old-ass guitar and horrible words with daft meanings. If you don't like it then don't listen, bub. Back to the comments section with you! Easy over and out.
