|
Over murky organ chords, the spoken word of Before I begin quickly familiarize us with the overriding theme and sound sorce of this disc. Hypnotic Middle Eastern flavors seep from Waddi Haj like smoke wafting from an exotic censer; female chants and muffled percussion softly churn amid hazy loops.
How many of you understand? (3:45) delivers more alien-oriented conspiracy theories over a bed of muted pulsations.
Reverberating metallic drums strike a busy tattoo in Never called NJ12..., and are soon joined by further alien/government dicussions, including E.T. captives, murder and assorted incidents of coverup operations.
Wordless Give us Dub gets us a dose of shadowy islandic rhythms and ghostly sheets of synth accompaniment. The additional extraterrestrial talk (concerning further deceptions and an alien treaty with the US Govt.) of No Really... is backed by a mutated orchestral loop.
We learn that the president is not allowed to enter Area 51 and other farout factoids in
How many of you did not know that? (12:48). After a few such informative minutes, the ambient background drifts are allowed to develop unhindered.
The keening tones and beatless waves of The Alien Question actually subdue the chatter beneath (though interested parties may still discern the blather through careful listening). The speech recontinues in Only the names change, where pillowy, yet gritty, washes of semi-symphonic gusts phase in and out.
Without Aliens plays "slice and dice" with the alien talk, looping bits just before a spacy cloud of sound descends to shimmer obliquely, laced with higher tones which probe the central core and gong-like tones which occasionally spiral out from this enigmatic mass. Emphatic assurances of a US/Russian/Alien colony on Mars opens I don't expect anyone...; but quickly gives way to a radiant sound-fountain spewing musical effluvia and operatic female vocal strands, stirred by cyclic beats and sporadic mechanical-ish bursts.
|
