"...the band spent prerecording sessions exploring “underground Japanese noise cassettes, lower case micro tone poems and emotional Cagean field recordings”, layering “thousands of minute imperceptible samples of their first recordings with fuzzed out representations of their present beings to induce… many momentary transcendent inspirations”. Recording took place in an abandoned Detroit train station. Results appeared on the label doorstep, in a cryptically labeled cardboard box."
Our first thought was: Pitchfork is surely going to give this son-of-a-bitch an 11.4.
Not quite. But it does score a fine 7.9:
"Listen long enough and you'll hear volcanoes, old trains, purple lights, and Detroit summer, all tangled up with snippets of found sound and goofy lyrics about worms."
The boys have recently been working on their own freak-folk masterpiece, in which they combine the sweet, drunken babblings of sorostitutes passing by Chip's apartment with the howling of the wind during last week's blizzard, interspersed with bits from Top 40 hits and church hymns.
Chip: "It's a mood piece about the mingling of the sacred and the profane. Sort of like a John Donne poem, except better."