Oversaturated hip-hop beats; broken, reverb-muddied snippets of Spanish. Captain Beefheart reincarnated as a hip-hop cut-n-paster.

No socials. Untraceable. An empty woven basket is suddenly full, full of seemingly random pairings, fruits blooming with mold over spans of mere seconds.

It’s almost a soundscape rather than a radio-playable EP. An homage to the days when tracks were inseparable, when one song bled into the next in a fusion of watercolored blur, mixing every color together, journeying through shades of orange, green, indigo, all-consuming noir. Then “Lucky” comes along, throwing us into the dungeons of an ivy-ceilinged techno club, dancing alone, dancing to the dawn, yet haunted by intermittent whisperings of a past lover.

This EP is haunting both in its background portrayal, its foreboding environment, but also in its near-hearted close-miked narratives, its “open the book, then slam it shut” intrusions of incessant flashbacks, its panicked repetition. Moments of apparent optimistic haze ( e.g. first third of “LSD Simulator”) are staggered in their gait, spliced with guttural gasps, underlayed with a high-hat beating us upside the head like the ceaseless ticking of life’s ever-present clock. There’s something about the scream of a human child that induces unrelenting fear in us all.

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