war never changes

pulse emitter progression to desolation LP black horizons

heavy swoops of home-built synthesizer murk. at first it sounds like swarms of primitive cybernetic moths built by some loner mechanic from parts of old junkers, coming at you from a steel grey sky before turning inside out and forming a single penetrating wave to wipe you and your family out. it then goes into weird atonal jamming, abandoned cathedral style until your mind is finally rubbed out by a giant diamond. and that's just side one.
second side is more contemplative, like the inner monologue of a really old electronic storage system. dusk falls and the machine leaves you with feelings of inner turmoil before a calm analog blanket encapsules you and lulls you into emotional ambiguity. this is not a record, it's a post-apocalyptic work of art. and it rules.