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With Pandora-esque results, opening the black box emits a shadowy torrent of semi-musical currents, writhing ominously then fading away as
searching for a corner blows determinedly in on the foul winds of thundering machinery. Like a bulldozer plowing through the depths of hell,
nothing is exact not even nothingness churns in seismically grinding spasms of scattering murk.
Monstrous roars briefly erupt into the lingering haze of
when will we fall while cold shell seems to travel through the dimly lit chambers and passages of some haunted starship. Besides designing the disc's sleeve, Steve Brand of augur contributes sound sources to playing in the vacuum; I get the impression of a tremendous howling suction ripping through an abandoned warehouse.
A subdued-though-still-noisy vortex awaits as approaching singularity rumbles like some massive asteroid passing through radiation fields. No such subtleties as static trench brazenly sputters with grungy energies.
Just a hint of tonality exists in the drone behind the thrum beneath the billowing spew of detritus of socalled empty space (8:55).
Several other basically interchangeable tracks dwell in similar zones of electromechanicalorganic chaos with the final exception of farewell track
closing the black box (1:27); slightly musical, yet shapeless and low, tones serpentine with little interference.
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