
A darker, more abrasive descent into cinematic noir. Self-pressed acetates and haunted vocals create a tense, beautifully damaged masterpiece of late-night trip-hop.
September 29, 1997
Hissing vinyl dust and heavy, synthetic basslines collide with vocals that sound like they are being whispered through a keyhole. By recording their own instrumentation to acetate and scratching it back into the mix, they made a record that feels bruised, damp, and claustrophobic, like walking through a cold rain at midnight.
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