Grimes’ Geidi Primes slips between your fingers, slicked with dish detergent, doing donuts in the porcelain until the seminal bedroom-pop LP meets its untimely food-processed demise.
Plunging into the backwash, your hand stirs the stagnant pool. Trashed drum machines clatter like discarded dishware; scraps of gnawed-on Casio and spit-up singalongs clinging to their surfaces like condiment residue. neatpop is soggy sandwich bread/the disintegration of Chips Ahoy/limp Cocoa Pebbles — the Arizona-based solo act’s sophomore record, The Ongoing Tragedies of Spectra and Little Lucille, wallows in its own cavity-inducing juices, absorbing curdled ambience until it reaches bloated saturation.
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“Internal Clock” ticks like the alarm clock primed to ring, the hypnagogic ooze of a dream punctured by a minute hand’s trail. I find myself beating its clangor by a second or two these days - my circadian rhythm and the timer’s heartbeat phase-shift knotted waves, occasionally meeting at intersections.
*Eye crust tectonic-shifts to metallic vibrations*
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“Formal Letter to the Sun” sheds hydrogen and megabytes in atmospheric suspension. Its Bossa Nova jitter refracted through the pane, it is a funhouse mirror, a divine pratfall. Badalamenti-esque synths gurgle like flat lemon-lime in your glass.
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