Teen Anal Terrorist - Warm Blatz for Teenage Runaways (Savage Quality)
I was sold purely on the name, but should you not be a fan of any of the three appellations as personal nouns, you may still fall in love if you crave the I, but don't care about the DM, or if you need sounds for your morning shift with central services, 27b stroke 6 in hand, as you hack through the world behind backpanels of apartments in Brazil. At the risk of sounding like & not just being an asshole, "Warm Blatz…" is something of a Skinny Puppyied Aphex Twin syrupy drank soundscaping The Trial.
It is as if there is no beginning, or the start, where the needle first drops, is the thought, by T.A.T., and then the listener, "oh, this is already been going on, we're ready?" And from there you are lost. There are coils and forms and drum machines crashing. Someone whispers, and they probably know why you are here, but they don't reveal much. That's not their job. Where can you go in this recording to understand where you are, what is going on, what is the meaning of these sounds? If you hold hope for the narrative, for the belief that going through the process, wandering through this Metroid world, will, as track 8 withers away whistles its piercing away, reveal itself to you once lived, you are incorrect. You can, however, listen to this and enjoy being lost, letting the bubbles rise, the phasers trace, [[[[and the warm blatz hold you at bay.]]]]]