Mandan/Moroni has the grimmest packaging I’ve received to date: two cassettes glued to an abrasive piece of black sandpaper. The roughness of its outer skin catches all surfaces, sheering off callouses, scabs, and the uneven blemishes of skin, table, and shelving. Yet, this mechanism seems designed to force the packaging open, where it unfolds like a pair of eagle’s wings stretching toward the sun, ready to drop some majestic feathers from its plumage.
This darkly sandpaper seems to be a production tool within the goodness of yet another welcomed addition to Kris’ growing solo catalog. The songs are righteous, free, and beautifully beaten up by the coarse material of the cassettes’ outer skin. This causes the songs to have an unfinished veneer that keeps them strongly rooted in the GeAr canon; metallic and slightly broken despite their best attempts at being as pretty and august as the brethren that surround them. These belong to convocation but not at its lead; further back to be the determined few that make the lazy fly harder, longer, faster, and further.
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