Those big, slow sawtooths, waves of waves, all Eno and Laurie Spiegel, with the occasional squals of analog drums and strings and all, moaning muttering over top like a dip into Spiderland or Laughing Stock. Slices of dissonance, a relief map of tones, concentric disappearings. Itchily intriguing, without ever quite ascending 3.5/5
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