1 Shambler Shuffle
2 Shambler Shuffle edit

Both of these tracks feature super fat fuzz rubbing in your face, and a nice little neck snapper beat, dangling like a dancer intoxicated by song.

3 Samba in Shambles

Off beat jerk chords obtrude relentlessly over some oblivious guitar honks and deceptively clever beats.

4 Sweltering Haze

Like a fly swimming through the humid gelatin of a hot day, everything goes slower and slower, then stops.

5 Corrupt Asian Businessman

Polite asian chord chops arrive, hat in hand, apologetically, then start bobbing in-and-out of time, like a bat too blind to flee.

6 Brazen Proclamation

A frivolous drum phrase and then the leaden tainted power of ever-lasting glory falls out of the gloomy midday cloud-hid sun. It breaks up like weather.

7 Under and Out

Someplace to hide, a comforting blanket of bass fog pierced and deflated by high pitched guitar flips and fillips. The bell of the cymbal barks back, and leads the beat down the garden path through crumbling counterpoints too dull to be borne. Reduced to a noodle, the guitar describes a melody; as it sours, it ends.

8 Sparklelight

Starts out every bit the sparkle, angular bits biting back at the adumbrate shallows of beat, then it restlessly churns a shake beat, the other guitar drifts in chorded cascades, emphasis waxes and wanes, until the adagio just before 3m, then resounds into the long float, with sparkles floating by over the top. A solo of sorts erupts, then the other guitar pops in, everybody’s popping, we have, yes, we have bubbles popping furiously… Before 5 minutes have past it loses it to slack, but the guitar picks it up on back, and the other guitar plaintively wanks elsewhere. At 6m the guitar grows a pair and everything sings in victorious golden song. Feedback and crack yanking ensue, ringing in the surging dreamlike ending.

9 Woken to the Roots

Deep and heaving long and high, the guitar goes into diminished patterns through a melodic keyhole, climbs in slap steps, does the whole step dance, reminds us about the pattern, steps in a little mess, and chimes a while. It builds to another sad descent at 3m, and into the full diminished climb and fall. Another guitar moans behind. 4 and a half shakes awake into more frantic forms of flapping, rewinds the back and forth until the fierce fuzz box is unleashed from the strictures of slumber. It ends after 6m, and lingering filigrees float in faint films over the chop of the beat’s memory. Up to the 8m point it skitters and climbs, then collapses in chaos and beauty. A big bad ending breaks it all off.

10 Interference From a Dream

Blowhards puff chords out, a melodic lead goes down the diminished patterned path. It gets sing song syncopations, with a wistful descent by 2m, struggles into irrelevance, insists on insertion, stands up for simplicity, goes back and forth, settles into a spy movie groove, cuts it off quickly, and snaps into a beat at 4m. It breaks in doubletime, tries to take somewhere new, then back to the up and down, allowing spidery commentary to climb up behind. By 6m the guitar is elegiac, reaching for harmonic highs, a rhythm breakdown assails us, followed by the protestations of the shambling guitar flack. Before 8m it ends a sustained note to wind up a clattering ending. Spurts blurt out uncertain eternities in ending.

11 Jazz Bent & Straightened

Drunken wavering horn warbles a rope swing over the machinelike beat and a single chiming jazz chord. It unravels in a stately sequence of notes, stable but flailing by 2m, then breaks off into a sixties whole note jump, from a major fucking seventh, and back to square one when the ticky-tick of the drums brush up the slap of the high-hat and the chords start to rolling on up. Right after 4m that horn starts hanging round the corner, arm around that lonely lamppost, nodding out to pop whole note swing.

12 Hidebound March Destroyed

Jump humping that bunk bed rump, the snap of the snare describing precisely each fractured step right or allemande left or do-si-do. After a minute and a half, the other guitar sneaks a few chords into it, bringing it out into the summer-hot neighborhood streets, ice cream from the corner store eaten with a rounded little chip of a stick, until the click gets more clinical, and the melody goes just about anywhere you please. By 4m the beat is clearly swinging; all military clarity is fogged by a succession of sick beats, until Sleet just quits it.