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.
lyrics
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.
credits
from Apopophrenia,
released October 13, 2015
Drums - Thomas Sleet
Guitar - Tony Patti
Guitar synth - William Morris
Bass - Alex Mutrux
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