Dusted pickup runthough cont'd.
Its easy to bang out a bunch of reviews a month and think that you're a pretty good music reviewer. I'd never make that mistake; this is all castoff halfassed impressioneering that I only even bother to tart up a bit when it suits me, but sometimes I flirt with that dangerous piece of delusion. Albums like this are good humblers though, since I really like it, but I am largely at a loss to explain why.
Its very repetitive, working its way through oblong, overlapping loops. It's electronic I suppose, but in a glitch way (without the unpleasantness that implies), and in a very textured, analog Books-ey way (though it is far more traditional in structure than that implied). It's minimal, maybe ambient, but it doesn't really evoke spaces the way ambient often does. If feels like you're moving slowly past things that are whirring, like you're lying on a conveyor through a half-real machine, complex beyond comprehension, drug-addled to the point of finding melody in whirs, engines, drafts and echoes. In the background, seven chambers away, a horn player plays 4/5
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