“Your body is not a temple, it’s just food for the pump.”
Nuke ’em, Rico!
Rats in ruin.
Imbibing the pared down, psychedelic-infused folk ditties from South Africa’s weirdo experimental duo.
Enduring a Sisyphean struggle to attain ascension.
Exploring beautiful nebulas, exploding quasars, and distant galaxy swirls.
Put your head in a wind turbine destructive.
“A life benign, the stench of a false sense of pride. Keep your 9 to 5, I’ll take a dead end drive. At best vermin in this dirt fucking life.”
An extensive journey through the unrecoverable reality of the dark electronic producer, Insanity Check.
Let the forest speak my name.
Down this old road, to Appalachia.
Visiting the UFO crash site that cratered in the pastoral countryside of [REDACTED], U.K.
Ramblings and musings about fresh tunes that span the gamut of blistering grindcore, poignant doom pop, minivan jazz, and a litany of other timbres.