I got moody after all that book-making and collared some street urchins who, for the price of a cup of tea and crusts of bread, set about cutting and pasting for me. It's like Warhol's factory here, minus the glamour. OK, it's more like a Victorian workhouse as I patrol the floor, swishing my cane, barking orders, and generally seeing to it that the work gets done properly. After all, it's my concept, the making of which should be left to the lower orders, one of whom cried 'What's that noise, mister?' whilst this album was playing loudly. I struck him a swift blow about the ear and he soon shut up.
What is this noise? I don't know how to describe it other than as a moody, mesmerising collection of militaristic percussion, piano, electronics and guitar, all melding into what feels like one long cyclical trance-inducing trip of epic proportions, epic in feel, that is, rather than sonic overload. Little melodies on a large canvas; deceptive simplicity masking more content than is apparent at first. This album wormed its way into my brain after several plays and is still doing so.