Labels: Thrill Jockey
Review by: Captain Fidanza
The illustration on the front is reason enough to drop whatever you’re doing and go and buy this immediately.
The music itself is blackened sludge from Portland, the thickness of which I haven’t encountered since I visited the Prestwich Museum of Tarmacadam.
Incidentally, I don’t know if drummer Lee Buford dropped the letter ‘r’ from his name in order to distance himself from his father Bill Bruford, but if he did, then I think he should be roundly applauded.
The singer sounds like they might have a stone in their shoe, so I suggest stopping for a moment (if convenient) removing the shoe, shaking the stone out, replacing the shoe and then carrying on with your walk.