Over the course of their last few releases, this fully-enraptured west coast noise duo have single-handedly tied up a whole sack full of internally-explosive flesh/metal moves but Shining Smoke has gotta be some kind of apex of euphoric, cranium-ravishing vox/doom/trance. Some of the vocals here are so beautifully blasted that it sounds like they're wired to satellites and at points the lugubrious depths of the music best resembles an amphetamine re-think of Grouper's frozen choral form, with tracers of extended tongue compacted into dense escape velocities while single thunders of percussive guitar doom crack and loll overhead. Deep pools of motionless black combine with peaking, overloaded electronics and a beautifully abandoned atmosphere. "4 chapters of a maya rite concept, bells, voices and eternal damnations...there's no sun in LA." Totally great. Comes in a hand-numbered edition of 124 copies in silk-screened fold-out art paper sleeves.
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|||||||||
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
 |
|
|
 |
||||||||
 |
 |
|
|
 |
|
|
 |
 |
|||||||||
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
PAST TIP OF THE TONGUES
