This is Hockyfrilla and Barbarians' Rhian Thompson's summer album. That being the case, I can only assume that her aestival activities consist of whiting out and falling into paranoid, delusional sleep under bushes in the ornamental gardens of power stations. Insectoid-acoustic scrape and scratch and a dissonant cloud of generator drone unsettle and disturb. The more I listen, the surer I am that it is her best work so far, and imbued with a certain beauty... but not the kind that I'd ever like to look at.
Hear some here.
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