A list of similes written on the hottest morning of the year so far:
It's like the sound that good appliances hear when they arrive at their afterlife. Armies of Hoovers with horns playing a dizzying fanfare when another brother arrives at the gates. When toasters have been virtuous; when blenders have achieved all they can; when bread makers have led good lives; this is what they are waiting to hear.
It's like a Sudoku composed from sounds not numbers. Or should that be cryptic crossword puzzle? (odd nosdam's mother may call him Dave but what did his teachers call him? It's crazy boy! [4,6])
It's like the lament of a sad fisherman who got saved just at the last minute. They dragged him from the water when they found him, cut him free from his netting and punched and pummelled the water from his lungs. Everyone cheered when he opened his eyes and started spluttering but he knew immediately that any chance he ever had for contentment was gone. Now he spends his nights in his coracle, bobbing above the spot, wishing he had the nerve, wishing he could just gird his loins and dive down, sucking in that cold, sweet water one more time. Now he just sits there night after night and sings.
It's like the sound that bad appliances hear when they go to the other place. Armies of Dysons with didgeridoos playing a cacophonous din when another brother arrives at the gates. (And who is that there conducting? Mike Patton from Faith No More? Eyes as black as basalt, smile made from stainless steel and face made from patent leather?)
It's like waking up on a park bench but your tongue isn't stuck to an insect; you don't need to peel the face mask of congealed blood off your mouth before breathing; your head isn't hammering like the essential Sunday morning 8am round of road maintenance. In fact you feel just fine like Psyche has just kissed your brow. You aren't an alcoholic you see. You are a rich man who has paused for a rest halfway through his weekend constitutional. Stand up and stretch. Put your expensive hand made shoes back on. Untie your thoroughbred dog and continue back to your opulent house.
A list of facts written on the hottest lunchtime of the year so far:
This is by odd nosdam, anticon affiliate and key member of cLOUDDEAD. It is much better than his last album 'No More Wig For Ohio'. And that was pretty good. It features contributions from too many anticon people to list, Mike Patton, Andrew Broder of Fog and Orvar Smarason of Mum.
You need this album. When you pack your bag tomorrow and you pick up some sun block, some mineral water and your shades; pick up this album as well. It is probably one of the only things that is going to help you through this infernal heat. Put it in your Walkman, slam it in your Discman, dump it on your chav chip, stick it on your generic MP3 player.
If you buy this album you will thank me.
It's against my religion to repeat things that I've read elsewhere, especially on press releases but I feel I must this time: this truly is without handy pigeonhole. I could try and make something up (probably including fragments of the words digital trip instrumental psychedelia hop found sound mayhem) but I wouldn't be doing it any justice.
This album is sublime. 4 stars
[John Doran]