It's all about the actual quality in the listening. Being the first to do X with Y instrument only earns you some historical-value bonus bump on your base does-it-rock score on this blog. But jesus christ, these guys were first, a full on minimalist, looping, electronic, drone, post-rock, found-sound salvo in 19fucking68. Analog electronic tones pulse in earthy mathy cycles, skitterey drums prick structure, and psychedelic, dissonant harmonies weave patterns over top. There's nary a chorus, little movement or structure or movement, everything happening according to its own, truly strange devices. This is Can, this is Atticus Ross, this is The King of Limbs. 1968. Goddamn.
It's not altogether listenable, too strange, too off, too disinterested in the listener to be much fun; its not quite cool; it's just barely good. But its fucking fascinating to hear something this different, and it's a historical value bump with some real force: something this alien could only have been created by leaping wholly outside the approaches of the moment. This is an album that could only happen because there was no roadmap, grinning with thorns and bristles from a ravenous romp through the untracked 3.5/5
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