When the instruments of metal and stings, sinew, hair, wood, bone all melt in the cauldron, don’t even think about the sound to finalize. The sizzling and eruption of cries for help as it all sludges into one form. Pour it all out into a mold of some new instrument. One that is all the instruments, instrument. The banal and climactic. The savage and stagnant. Romantic and drastic. That ringing silence isn’t a drone meant for the energetic. This is dedicated to the Inactive Parts. And James Fella is back again on the black magic music. Haunting us all to the core. Stranded and locked-in. Not being able to think clear enough. Venom coursing via sound. Inactive Parts in paralysis:
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