Several possible connections popped and fizzed like mentos blasted from a two-liter upon first hearing Celebration Noire. Several of them are extremely muddled; luckily, the whole shebang-bang comes together via tact not often found in music this sludgy and random. Extreme-instrumental, is what I call SVR’s flow; do I hear a golem black-metal shriek? Yep, that’s not normally something I’d expect to hear stuck in the middle of a traffic jam of casio beatz, wood block, insistent sweeping string swathes that seems to almost dive-bomb the arrangement (albeit in a peaceful way), and odd jabs of effects that form a huge, constantly changing visage for the screamer to bounce his blood-curdling hell-hole hollers off. Without warning, we on the outside of a train, trying to hold onto the side of the beast, wind whirling us around and blasting us in the face as a light rain causes electrical aberrations to form and zap us in the head-hole, melting us into neon-colored wax that will be spun in the name of the lord on 12-12-2012. Party.
More about: SVR