Pounding bass, slamming beat, alien discotech, after a couple minutes of this, a climax closes out the slam and Sleet issues in the next groove, announcing itself like a police detective, feet straight on the ground, flat footed. Right before the five it gets good and jungle, then flips up high. Synths abstract the patterns, floating obliviously on into the night, as they say. Nothing is left but basic bass bones, with a skittering Morris stroke coming and going, some synth frequencies melting and winding, and a spare off beat track under it all. 8m it clears the decks for the fat waves of the frozen North, dares to go epic, throbs down to ferocity, and a synth starts jabbing in rudely, the bass starts shaking, while some synth winds around behind it all. 10m in Morris shows off his bitter guitar shake, and the synth jabs it all on up. After the 12 Sleet throws it all back, and the swirls start up to twirling, after which the synth throws 12th grade spitballs a while. In the midst of nothing special, power chords restore the hot discipline of anger and aggression. Before 15, it ends in throbbing plaints. Then the swirling comes back, the guitar wails, and the drums beat up the pace. Everyone stops to listen to synch of the arpeggiator and patches together whatever they can from it. Like a rising storm, Goddard looms out from under the noise, and authoritative notes are bitten off the harsh, distorted guitar. At 19, a tiny swing ebbs off into a charging bass drive surrounded by synth plinks, the guitar hits in spare, the bass goes off everywhere, then a tiny Hollywood synth patch tries to take us all to tinseltown. At 21 and a half it doubles the fun, and it all descends together, honing it down to a sharp, click-tight drone. The ending begins with bass doo-dads all day, cascades of Morris flutter, and drum decay. A small synth noodle falls.
lyrics
Pounding bass, slamming beat, alien discotech, after a couple minutes of this, a climax closes out the slam and Sleet issues in the next groove, announcing itself like a police detective, feet straight on the ground, flat footed. Right before the five it gets good and jungle, then flips up high. Synths abstract the patterns, floating obliviously on into the night, as they say. Nothing is left but basic bass bones, with a skittering Morris stroke coming and going, some synth frequencies melting and winding, and a spare off beat track under it all. 8m it clears the decks for the fat waves of the frozen North, dares to go epic, throbs down to ferocity, and a synth starts jabbing in rudely, the bass starts shaking, while some synth winds around behind it all. 10m in Morris shows off his bitter guitar shake, and the synth jabs it all on up. After the 12 Sleet throws it all back, and the swirls start up to twirling, after which the synth throws 12th grade spitballs a while. In the midst of nothing special, power chords restore the hot discipline of anger and aggression. Before 15, it ends in throbbing plaints. Then the swirling comes back, the guitar wails, and the drums beat up the pace. Everyone stops to listen to synch of the arpeggiator and patches together whatever they can from it. Like a rising storm, Goddard looms out from under the noise, and authoritative notes are bitten off the harsh, distorted guitar. At 19, a tiny swing ebbs off into a charging bass drive surrounded by synth plinks, the guitar hits in spare, the bass goes off everywhere, then a tiny Hollywood synth patch tries to take us all to tinseltown. At 21 and a half it doubles the fun, and it all descends together, honing it down to a sharp, click-tight drone. The ending begins with bass doo-dads all day, cascades of Morris flutter, and drum decay. A small synth noodle falls.
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