Before the track begins, an appendage of the dying member’s last breath resonates inside a steel bowl. He clutches the rim. The breath skates around the curves. It cannot be translated as long as it exists inside the lingering clog of chemical.
In the wake, we are warned to not go there; we are warned too late. The ruins are housed in the aftermath: a minimal ritual drum - friction of insect legs - an exotic melody bent further by tape manipulation - swift background swishes pinching the climate - outer rings of a home organ - patient repetitive bass. A feeling that we just missed the devastation.
• Mirt: https://mirt.bandcamp.com
• Backwards: http://www.backwards.it/releases/
More about: Mirt
