1 Apopophrenia

Starts with Sleet declaring a new flag, a new political system, some drum taps, and long sustained notes on the synth, guitar and bass. A streetscape waves in the heat, sound objects shimmer in isolation. A bass figure, then a cluster of synth, and a symphonic pad all make solitary statements. The bass starts something and stops again, fuzz guitar climbs over some synth flutters, the drums pick up, the bass rolls, feedback screeches, every instrument fights unity.
5 minutes in, something strong starts with pounding guitar chords, synth stridently strikes up a frantic flurry of notes, and it coalesces into a climax that melts in symphonic insertions. At 7:30 minutes, the drums start an advanced beat, and a voice shouts A-X-A-B-A-B. The drums get tribal, guitar screeches, and a voice chants Apopophrenia. The bass pops in front, the drums pick up the beat, while the chanting goes through a series of variations of varying success. At 11 minutes a beat becomes solid, and the voice continues. The voice fades out as the instruments come into focus.
At 12 minutes the frenzy cools with a few slices of synth and guitar. A synth fades into insistence, struggles to gel, and a difficult beat increases in complexity in response. Guitar and synth battle. The guitar steps up, and fashions an accord with the beat, the synth harmonizes for a second, then everything shifts on a dime. The guitar goes plaintive and sweet, the synth chimes, the beat simplifies, around the 15.30 minute mark. The synth doubles the time, then the drums change it to a dance that goes a little sour, as the guitar takes it through some stylistic rounds. Intensity increases until the guitar wails, then the drums stop, the guitar thrums a few notes. A light figure sings over it and a minor seventh chord from the guitar ends it all.

2 Bompity Bonk

A galloping guitar sound struggles against a plethora of drum ideas, and everything dissolves to chaos, creating a humid and overgrown weed waste, with tendrils of guitar curling through. The bass tries to follow the drums, the guitar climbs vine-like from the mess, the drums change from beat to beat, then back again. Just after the three minute mark a delicate little section flickers and vanishes, then a more serious guitar statement climbs on a bass pattern, firmly established by the 5 minute mark.
The guitar continues to create prog rock melodies, resting on a steady, long beat, then the bass takes a pass at variations, the guitar takes back off, and things get dramatic at the 7 minute point. The bass meanders, a synth swells, the guitar wanders around, the beat holds it together, then the bass goes into a diminished scale. Things climb to a higher level, and snap back to ground. The bass tries a simple note pattern, the drums play around the simplicity easily. At 10 minutes the bass goes off the reservation and everything dissolves into individuality. Feedback guitar wails and climbs a few chords, a mechanical world emerges. Things simplify a bit, the bass throws in staccato notes, the drums tap, and a feeling of weariness settles in. Strange beauty comes in and out, the drums stop, and a final burst of treated guitar flows with harmonics.

3 Chunking Thunks

Jumps up into a mid-stroll pump, with clanging synth bells, choppy guitar chords, a bubbling bass, and plenty of down home funk. The guitar insists, the bass chugs, and Sleet tinkle-winks away. The bass walks down past the guitar, that hunkers down low, with a lot of fat string spanking and shaking. A gangster wail starts up at quarter to three, and then Morris cuts in with obstreperous cries. The bass rolls up a new barrel, and then steps it back down. It dissolves into pure image, Morris starts popping a rythym, ascents form after 5, ending it bass places, while Sleet rolls the cup of his cymbals, and the bass really gets a bit colossal and presumptuous. The guitar proposes a way up, and the bass answers back stately structures.
Right before 8 a definite statement erupts, and turns around into a progression, replete with synth angel wahs. It jells into a dancehall jump, and the bass wanders wisely around in it, while Morris provides an anxious drape behind the stately paces, until a two-note keyboard intro precedes a guitar gone clean but wild series of notes, interrupted quietly but insistently by Morris wails. The parade begins a trot, pieces jell and coalesce, norms persist, and a catalog of archetypes begins to succeed, one idea after another, perpetuated by the perplexity of peevishness.
It climbs to a height at 13, then everything clears in an alpine twilight of skeetering Morris pluck-bends, and a meandering bass that never stops the variety of invention. There is a wandering in the wonders of backing tracks fat yet frisky, until some choppy chords pop out, expecting a diligence. After an initial pause of chagrin and shock, Morris raises a flurry of objection, until choppy chords is left to support of flutter of bass fripperies. A synth flips between patches until lighting on lingering tube tones, then it ends.

4 Classicaloop

Classic starts out in pure classic mode, with a high-class figure of dignity and grace. As everyone comes in, the beach party starts up, the bikinis bounce over skin, the Madagascar beach balls dangle, and mystery prevails in bass guitar plucks, and the bass pops into a swing of massive infectiousness around 2 and a half. A fierce and simple motif is thrown down, two notes, two chords, a back and a forth, and the guitar goes heavy metal hero over the top of it all as Mutrux proves his thing is legitimate, throwing out licks and hanging heavy in feedback over it all. The psychedelia starts again, as the bass pops feverishly behind the mystery meat of a room of wonders combined. Sleet displays a beat of unmatched complexity and commands it around the chunking Morris guitar background.
At quarter to seven it dissolves into the dark corners of West End house parties on LSD, and goes thoroughly haunted house shortly thereafter. At 8 things clear up into K-SHE classic pointillism, with Alex still floating like a poppy dream over the bass subsystem. At 9 a screech cuts through, and morphs between effects while Sleet layers in the syncopation beats. Right before ten it floats down to just outer space fantasies a while, nearly quits, and then comes lumbering back up the muddy riverbank smelling of muck and breathing a lulling swell and grind. Sunbeams fling rings, Sleet shuffles abstract clouds of drum symphony, and the guitar gets decisive and metal again, right about 12, goes into a sighing bridge of swing, then snaps back into metal while synth bells hit wack intervals without structure. The bass keeps bubbling, the guitar climbs in distorted chords until a galloping on and on.
At 14, the galloping breaks into long lean notes, then breaks into JS Bach scales, and the bass pops tiny high notes, and Thom rides along behind, watching and waiting. Dull bells start bonging and build up until 16, where they become something of importance until they fall back and the guitar rises up in place. A brash descent, then a tiny bell pattern starts, is answered by a metal progression, that changes wildly, and the drums shuffle up a trot and Alex gets a bit western a moment, then u-turns into a brief R&B wah wah pop.Things get a bit more serious over a restrained Sleet two-beat, and every time it dies, Alex has a better idea. Sleet resorts to cymbal taps, and the guitar barrels on like a sled through many feet of silken snow.
After 21 some trippy effects help maintain novelty, and a see-saw synth things sings under a noodling of high bass fingerings. The guitar gets back to the classics, then slings out a few chopped funk licks, the wah swells, Sleet knocks a wispy cymbal beat, and everything kind of retreats before a complicated synth arpeggio. The guitar sustains, a bass resounds, then a quick broadway ending punctuates the drawl.