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A faded marching band overtaken by radio interference says Hello world. Overburdened by heavy doses of spoken sci-fi cartoon samples, sounds and monster voices, Brothers of space is joined by soft, deep Goth-ready vocals.
Wan whispers sulk over tinny electronic drones and blippy tones as No cords. No wires evolves into a macabre, melancholy mambo.
A cartoon soundtrack is buried under raucous bursts as
Marching to Rome (0:37) bridges into the creepshow rock strains of
By five o'clock tea; a painfully throaty singing voice intones and barks over a surging drum and organ backdrop. King inst. King's self-professed "computer" voice orates into a grinding industrialized void, joined by sizzling static and assorted other multimedia samples, some of which are spastically fragmented and regurgitated repeatedly.
Amongst scattered reverberations, orchestralish gloom and feedback squalls, pallid croaks declare that this is The end of the world; some of that track's random thumps slip Under the sea, into a much quieter zone of dirty-colored softness. A "drowsy", hushed duet sings unconvincingly of happiness over rather traditional organ and brass instrumentation which fades into a resonant haze. All the sweetness and dread of Sugar and fear emerge in lovely-though-tainted piano and whispily entwined vocals, like parlor music from a house of horror.
Streaming gleam passes into near-silence, Making room for God within a faint bed of electronic textures which grow louder with wavering guitar chord blurts and backwardly-sliding cymbals. Bleakly muttered lyrics are met with cheerful applause, slow beats then more-straightfoward musicality.
Muted piano, synth and cymbals take a disparately pretty Flight to the future (8:02) though once joined by the ubiquitous whispers, everything gradually intensifies into a blinding torrent. 30 seconds of soundlessness elapses before Things to come flutters in at half-volume with theremin tones quavering over somberly lilting keys.
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