There I stood still amidst a dull, soundless, oppressively scorching night of July, steadily gazing at a horde of howling demons hanging low in the heavens and dancing to barren dirges of insufferable gloom and hollow emptiness. A quaint, rugged sound strangely resembling serenity post-mortem, oddly redolent of the reveller's trance upon opium, shifted, touch by touch, onto unceasing waves of progressive drone, sludge and post-rock madness. A mark, though unique, had reeked up from the summoned souls of three different shadows - God Is An Astronaut, Pelican and Russian Circles.
Review by Mindheist ››