Buscar:j shadow final departure

“Final Departure” is the debut album by J-Shadow, a widescreen vision expanding out on an event horizon before us. Built using influences from London’s rich electronic, pirate radio and black music lineages (jungle, grime, hip-hop, electronica etc), the album twists and turns, lifting listeners up towards a more ethereal plane. “I see beauty in the complexity of life from the cosmic scale to the quantum,” he explains. “From all that we can observe, this world stands as a uniquely multifarious sphere in which we just happen to exist.” “I love to take ideas and attempt to conceptualise them into an audible expedition,” he explains. “I find that music serves as an extraordinary medium to project my perception of the universe.” “Sometimes I will reach for certain influences and deconstruct them into an amalgamation of conscious experiences that reflect my vision of how I see the world.”

Returning with its final instalments, Die Schachtel's Decay Music series extends its explorations of inspired contemporary experimental efforts of the ambient, ethereal, and emotively abstract with Luigi Turra and Elio Martusciello’s “Liminale” and Sergio Armaroli and David Toop’s “And I Entered Into Sleep”, two astounding electroacoustic gestures of blurred space and time, plumbing complexity of meaning bound to sonority. Creatively groundbreaking and inspired, radically rethinking the terms of what ambient music can be perceived to be, they stand among the most striking efforts to appear within the series to date.

Reconfiguring the notion of bridge building on a multitude of terms, it feels fitting that the tenth and final installment of Die Schachtel’s Decay Music series, Sergio Armaroli and David Toop’s “And I Entered Into Sleep”, was co-created by an artist whose work featured in the first suite of LPs issued by Brian Eno’s Obscure Records in 1975, the groundwork toward which Decay Music’s own efforts nod. Since that auspicious debut, “New and Rediscovered Musical Instruments” — his split with Max Eastley — David Toop has been regarded as a pioneer in British experimental and improvised music: a sonic voyager who has continuously challenged the sources and materiality of sound through rigorously thoughtful performances, a vast catalog of recordings, and a steady flow of highly influential texts. Be it as a member of Alterations, his group breaking group with Peter Cusack, Terry Day, and Steve Beresford that ran between 1977 to 1986, or through is noteworthy work with artists like Rie Nakajima, Thurston Moore, Paul Burwell, Rhodri Davies, Lee Patterson, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Akio Suzuki, Elaine Mitchener, and numerous others, collaboration has always played a central role within Toop’s singular practice, but few can claim the sprawling sense of beauty and intimacy that’s achieved by “And I Entered Into Sleep”, his first recorded outing with Sergio Armaroli.

A composer, percussionist, vibraphonist, and multidisciplinary artist, Armaroli has been issuing radical and forward-thinking musical gestures for decades, working as one of Italy’s most noteworthy interpreters of composer’s like Giacinto Scelsi, John Cage, Franco Evangelisti, Giancarlo Schiaffini, and Walter Branchi, as both a solo performer and member of the highly regarded Rib Trio, as well as forging a singular practice as a composer, intertwining his efforts as a painter, concrete percussionist, fragmentary poet and sound artist, within a total art, rooted “within the language of jazz and improvisation” as an “extension of the concept of art”. Like Toop, Armaroli’s career has been populated by many collaborators, notably with Riccardo Sinigaglia, Alvin Curran, and Walter Prati, among others, setting the stage for a remarkable meeting between the pair.

Featuring Armaroli on vibraphone and prepared vibraphone and Toop on electronics, “And I Entered Into Sleep” is “a sonic journey, a Proustian suggestion à la Recherche, into the unconscious between electronic and acoustic sounds”. Using a bell that sounds at the beginning of Proust’s “À la Recherché du Temps Perdu”, which reappears more than 3,000 pages later — signaling a transition of phases, as well an auditory trigger of memory — as a departure point, as an association to the percussive vibraphone pulses that thread the album’s two sides, the pair weave a striking interior world of immersive psychological depth. Feeling almost subaquatic at times, like captured glimpses of rumbling, shadowy ecosystems lost within murky ambiences, before washing ashore in a series of pointillistic, highly detailed alien landscapes of the mind, each artist’s markedly different sound-sources, and treatment of the subsequent material elements, dance in abstract grace, incorporating subtle nods to minimalism, free jazz, and musique concrète within its seamless total form of sparse texture and tone.

Easily one of the most striking and memorable releases by either artist to appear in recent years, Sergio Armaroli and David Toop’s “And I Entered Into Sleep” traverses uncharted realms at the borders of literary reference, sound art, ambience and abstraction through delicately musical sounds, revealing new depths at every turn. Issued as the tenth and final album in Die Schachtel’s Decay Music series, highlighting inspired contemporary experimental efforts of the ambient, ethereal, and emotively abstract.

For All The World, the black watch's twenty-fifth (and first double) album is a darkly poppy, brightly moody, many-splendored take on a number of the great themes: Death and Sex, Memory and Lament and Hope and Love. And it is, arguably, this heralded Los Angeles band's most sonically ambitious and moving record yet, since front man/novelist/ex-English professor John Andrew Fredrick formed the group in 1988 in Santa Barbara after he'd seen a London-by-way-of-Canada band called The Lucy Show play to twelve-or-so people in his hometown.

Having recorded 2024's Weird Rooms with producer Misha Bullock and Fredrick's son Chandler at Bullock's studio in Austin, TX, the TBW founder was keen to repeat the experience with, he says, more straightforward, classic psych/jangle/shoegaze songs. The result, though artistically satisfying, spurred a yen in John to write more songs as a sort of reaction against the batch he'd carried with him from LA to Texas. "We had such a productive time recording ‘Weird Rooms’ that I wanted to repeat the experience... without repeating the experience. And once it was over and I left Misha to do what he pleased with respect to mixing and overdubbing, all I could think was 'I need to write another album now.'" So Fredrick brought longstanding producer/engineer and TBW-associate Scott Campbell (Stevie Nicks, Acetone) along this time to help out with engineering and good cheer.

Fredrick, who has been "accused" of being "astonishingly prolific," learned that bandmate Andy Creighton had recently become unemployed, seized the opportunity to have yet another multi-instrumentalist flesh out the new songs he quickly wrote after he came back from Austin. “Achilles Past,” the first single, is in fact a song that John wrote when the production team thought the album was done—and the front man avers that it’s often the case that a very strong song comes to him, as it were, in the eleventh hour. The same could be said for “Listen You Wait”—another number that came late to the Austin sessions.

Nevertheless, the recording of the first half of For All The World has Creighton's signature indelibly stamped on it - especially on such tracks as “Fainting” and “Surely You Rally”- just as the latter half highlights Bullock's formidable talents. "They're both not just brilliant musicians and they understand my aesthetic and bring their own sensibilities to bear on my stuff. Our respective tastes meet in, you guessed it, The Beatles' realm - the great shadow that hangs over all I do, at least."

"There's A Place," the final song on side two, serves in fact as a distinct homage that's been a long time coming for a band that included a cover of "It's All Too Much" as a bonus track and that release a quite punkish, uptempo version of "Eleanor Rigby" on a 7".

Following the departure of Wire's drummer Robert Grey in 1990 WIR had risen phoenix like from the ashes of the acclaimed UK post-punk band after and were created to fulfil the final phase of Wire's Mute Records contract. With a more sequence based sound, WIR saw the band breaking all their own rules by creating a new sparse electronic music with Graham Lewis singing most of the vocals and even cannibalising their own catalogue by sometimes sampling their own older material. WIR was, however, not a long-term project and besides completing their only album, The First Letter, their only other activities were a very small number of gigs and two multi-artist "conceptual happenings" under the name I Saw You. One of these was in Clapham in April 1992 on election night and the other in Vienna in Feb 1993. On that Vienna trip, in addition to playing the gig, the band recorded a radio session for the Austrian national broadcaster ORF which was organised by Peter Rehberg - later the person behind MEGO & sadly no longer with us. This was released in 1996 by Touch on CD and consisted of two long tracks with a running time of almost 25 minutes. Once the short run of CDs had sold out, the rights technically fell to the band, and pinkflag released it - digital only - in 2007 and now released on vinyl for the first time. The remastered 2025 vinyl / CD / digital edition adds a newly recorded, Taylor Swift style re-recording of what is undoubtedly WIR's most pop moment, the dark brooding shadows of So and Slow. The version released here is based on how the band played it live, so, inspite of being instantly recognisable, it does not follow the arrangement of any previously released version.

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

The seeds of composer Rafael Anton Irisarri’s latest LP were first planted during his 2016 tour in Italy, months before that Autumn’s unexpected presidential election. The linguistic glitch of an innocuous diner in Milan named “il Mito Americano” – meant as “The American Dream” but translated literally to English as “The American Myth” – sparked a series of ideas, both conceptual and musical.

Amid the chaos of 2020, while exploring the stark world of brutalist architecture and inspired by the false fronts of Potemkin villages, a vision started to take shape: FAÇADISMS. Composed over three years, it’s a late capitalist lament of simmering electric despondency.

Irisarri’s obsession with repeating motifs mirrors the cyclical nature of our tumultuous political history. The album’s eight tracks heave and storm like a tempest being drained of its rage. This is the sound of majestic dissipation, of morning afters, fashioned from a mournful haze with cavernous guitars and granular twilight. A euphony of a receding tide as one sifts through the remnants of what remains: dust, delusion, and memory.

Opening with the somber gauze of “Broken Intensification," FAÇADISMS moves fluidly between moments of absence and abandon. Ashen swaths of electronics billow above smoldering embers of melody, guitar, and scattered streaks of processed strings and voice, as on the rapturous doom of “Control Your Soul's Desire for Freedom,” featuring Julia Kent on cello and Hannah Elizabeth Cox on vocals. "The impoverished peoples of the Americas have known all along that 'freedom' is a cruel illusion crafted by the elites, akin to Potemkin's fake villages designed to impress Catherine the Great," Irisarri indicates. "FAÇADISMS illustrates a twisted inversion where the rulers deceive their subjects with illusions of safety, democracy, and free speech to create a grotesque mirage of control over their own lives.”

Elsewhere, Irisarri leans into passages of hushed oblivion (“Hollow,” “Dispersion of Belief”), while ragged drones rumble and disintegrate into wind-battered ambient wreckage. One has the sense that it’s all too late. The hour of fury has passed. The beauty has come and gone. Irisarri’s muse has become the crack in the façade of the unraveling myth.

The record closes with a climax of grand departure. Co-written with Kenyan sound artist KMRU, “Red Moon Tide” surges from flickering elegy to celestial disquiet, roiling waves of hymnal descent, and bristling noise. The effect is unsettling and unmooring: a soundtrack for the soul leaving the body, only to discover a void. It’s the sound of the center not holding, of shared illusions being dissolved in a tunnel of white light.

The cover photograph captures a profound sense of desolation. Taken in the historic shanty town of La Perla, Puerto Rico, where Irisarri spent his childhood, brutal colonial mysteries are lost to time. A skeletal concrete structure decays against an expansive blue horizon. Only the shadow of its shell ripples on the empty sea.

Has the American myth finally run its course?

For a few years Leo Robinson was the sort of hidden secret you sometimes come across in local music scenes. First in Manchester and now in Glasgow, he’d pop up regularly on DIY bills or as local support to a touring act, quietly blowing them off stage with his rich baritone vocal and homespun lo-fi tales of folklore and animism. With The Temple – his debut on PRAH Recordings – he looks set to cross over from being a cult concern.

“There's a spectrum within the album between fully mythologising or symbolising my lived experience, and just stating it in very matter of fact terms - that push and pull between the need to abstract and the need to break through the abstraction and have an honest moment with oneself” he explains. “This is one of the themes of the album as well as part of the process. The aim was to take all these anecdotal or symbolic elements and merge them into one narrative and one world, in a way that you can find your way through the record as if it were a landscape or language with its own logic.”

The record takes on a pastoral, slightly baroque nature that Robinson partly attributes to a friend screening a lot of ‘70s BBC material in his book shop that they used to hang out at. There are also elements of jazz, flickering to life in “The Spring”’s piano-led finale and coda.

Thematically, Robinson likens it to a Jungian ‘Hero's Journey’, his voice possessing a character who goes through several defined stages of consciousness. From conception and the beginning of an earthly life, the first half of the album recognises the development of the protagonist’s narrative and identity, before “The Pink Light”’s freeform departure from the hitherto more song-based suite devastatingly shatters this. The second half of the album then sees the protagonist witness “the uncontainable” water; learning that true divinity lies not in the individual self or lofty notions of gods and temples, but in the unremarkable nettles, insects and dogs on the roadside riverbank - referenced on tracks “The Cormorant” and “The Spring”.

Although now residing north of the border, The Temple was written while Robinson was finding his feet in Manchester, having moved there to go to art school as a teenager (as a visual artist, he has exhibited at the Tiwani Contemporary in London and Cardiff’s Chapter Arts Centre). As a result, many of the tracks bear out the shadows of his experiences in the northern city – at their most visible and explicit on the beautifully fragile storytelling of “The Pavement”. Written the day after the Manchester Arena Bombings, it recalls Robinson waking up to go to work on a hot summer’s day to discover that his street had been blocked off for terrorism investigations; it then progresses through the rest of his day, amidst the grimly surreal aftermath of the previous night.

Having written the chords, melodies and lyrics to the album, Robinson fleshed out the tunes by scoring out parts for the additional instrumentation, but it was only when a friend sent a demo to PRAH that he was able to fund its full recording. Guitars, vocals, piano and French Horn (the latter recorded by Lauren Reeve-Rawlings) were put down at Green Door Studios in Glasgow. Microphones were placed around the room and the sound of the musicians stepping on creaky floorboards and opening creaky doors were left audible to further the record’s live feel. The harpsichord heard on “The Serpent”, meanwhile, came from University of Glasgow lecturer David McGuinness. Strings were then recorded at PRAH Studios by Francesca Ter-Berg and Raven Bush, the Social Singing Choir adding their choral vocals to “Temple II”.

The result is an album that feels both luscious and yet intimately raw; as grand as Richard Dawson at his most panoramic but containing the rough edges and skeletal looseness of a Calvin Johnson work. At times Robinson lyrically moves towards the surreal, but ultimately this is a record grounded in reality; a true showcase of Robinson’s skill as a lyricist and songwriter.

"Released in May 1986 on SST Records and Blast First! in the UK, EVOL was the third studio album by Sonic Youth and showed the first signs of the band transforming their No Wave past into a greater alt-rock sensibility. “EVOL … marks the true departure point of Sonic Youth’s musical evolution,” noted Pitchfork, “In measured increments, Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo … bring form to the formless, tune to the tuneless, and with the help of Steve Shelley’s drums…, impose melody and composition on their trademark dissonance.” ""If Daydream Nation is Sonic Youth’s opus, EVOL was crucial research. There’s a directness that makes everything feel close. It is pure tension with little release. The entire record is a shadow." Stereogum likewise praised the album as one, “full of suspense…, the cornerstone Nico-evoking monotone [by Kim Gordon]. ‘In The Kingdom #19,’ featuring Mike Watt on bass and … vocals [by Ranaldo]…, is a harrowing story of a highway wreck over a suitably edgy instrumental backing punctuated by … live firecrackers in the vocal booth.” For Popstache, “EVOL slithers into the unconscious. Once the....detuned melodies and haunting riffs and final whispers of feedback depart from the speakers… the music [leaves] a faded footprint, forever reeling the listener back for another strange trip.” // “The seeds of greatness…” Pitchfork (who placed the album #31 of the Top 100 Albums of The 1980s) // “A near-masterpiece.” Trouser Press // “A stunningly fluent mixture of avant-garde instrumentation and subversions of rock’n’roll.” All Music Guide"

"Released in May 1986 on SST Records and Blast First! in the UK, EVOL was the third studio album by Sonic Youth and showed the first signs of the band transforming their No Wave past into a greater alt-rock sensibility. “EVOL … marks the true departure point of Sonic Youth’s musical evolution,” noted Pitchfork, “In measured increments, Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo … bring form to the formless, tune to the tuneless, and with the help of Steve Shelley’s drums…, impose melody and composition on their trademark dissonance.” ""If Daydream Nation is Sonic Youth’s opus, EVOL was crucial research. There’s a directness that makes everything feel close. It is pure tension with little release. The entire record is a shadow." Stereogum likewise praised the album as one, “full of suspense…, the cornerstone [Nico-evoking] monotone [by Kim Gordon]. ‘In The Kingdom #19,’ featuring Mike Watt on bass and … vocals [by Ranaldo]…, is a harrowing story of a highway wreck over a suitably edgy instrumental backing punctuated by … live firecrackers in the vocal booth.” For Popstache, “EVOL slithers into the unconscious. Once the....detuned melodies and haunting riffs and final whispers of feedback depart from the speakers… the music [leaves] a faded footprint, forever reeling the listener back for another strange trip.” // “The seeds of greatness…” Pitchfork (who placed the album #31 of the Top 100 Albums of The 1980s) // “A near-masterpiece.” Trouser Press // “A stunningly fluent mixture of avant-garde instrumentation and subversions of rock’n’roll.” All Music Guide"

Eagerly awaited debut album from oft-cited UK's most out-there band, features in the works with The Quietus and Wire already.

180GM PRESSING - 500 COPIES ONLY.

Difficult times required difficult music, my Yarns, that's why we had Guttersnipe; with its own sort of energy-kind there then.Reiner: A singular yield, a singular yield now.Barns: A whot
Reiner: A singular yield mate! Rich guitar strang, flow motive pounding underneath.Vox like Death come winding through the fields. Barns:  Hell of a way to describe a vocal style.
Me: Nah but for real my Donny, Have you read a presser 1 sheet lately It's the most

They say the PR era, circa late 80's killed the golden age of music journalism:
They say Guttersnipe have continuously melted all the forms that they come up against. They are right.  Because Guttersnipe is not part of a tradition we know well. You will identify the departure from it though, immediately, upon hearing My Mother The Vent. This LP, the promotional version of which, likely sits in your hands (disk, whatever). The innovation here is a FIRM commitment to the flowmotive polyrhythm underwriting the seared, nay fried, tonal rainbow and de-reasoned vox.

Not Nate Nelson, nor John the masseuse dude from Sightings but TIPULA CONFUSA.  Don't want to put the captain obvious pants on so tight I can't jump around the yard because why waste a good yard hang. I'll put on my blighty nighty instead. UROCERAS GIGAS has bridged so many gaps, finally unlocked the AxeWeld CODE and is really playing the thing. Not to mention bringing forth a world-view so utterly unique.  Good luck finding anything like it.

Finally some REAL disjunction in the music; clear and intended. In an age when most computer music composers use stochastic systems and still manage to drop some linear pathground shit, the brawler drums and slanky guitar constructions on My Mother The Vent are a genuine treat.  I've spent too much of my adult life so far hearing too much of this shit to not recognize REAL GAME. And here it crawls out of the grey shadows of ol' BLIGHTY.

Our post-music age: after the fine human endeavour known as music, the result of letting the cybernetic run ITS horrible game on us. I'm not waxing confusingly in a rarefied tone here. Nor running the boring sci-fi script. I really think that is were we is.  We left the human-music-on-a-human-scale behind and much to our detriment. Here we sit in our crumbling reality. But Guttersnipe come paleo, like the rhapsodes with long ass memories rattling off Homeric verse well into the age of manuscript culture, but here, with future tones.  Luckily. Otherwise, me and the record label here wouldn't be wasting our time and yours with a 1 sheet for My Mother The Vent.

So a proper first time on wax for these amazing creatures is a welcome addition to the world of things.  These drums and these guit-lines are so cranké, as they say here in my odd neighborhood.  These voices are so utterly expressive without even the damn language at hand ; like the great horns. We'll rinse this record out, I'll put on my old blighty nighty and go dance in the street.  Alex Moskos, Montreal, August 2018Guttersnipe is:UROCERAS GIGAS - Guitar, Analog Synth, VoxTIPULA CONFUSA - Drums, Drum Synth, Vox