HIVE MIND — Death Tone
Out of Stock
This release is no longer available in our current inventory. If you are interested in this title and would like to enquire about a possible repress or reorder, we would be very glad to hear from you.
Get in TouchMore Info
Low-fi analog-Industrial sounds aus dem WOLF EYES-Umfeld, Hören & Klangerfahrung als kathartisches Experiment, schwelend & hochfrequent... starke 80er Jahre Industrial / Cassetten-Szene Referenz.
"Weird dudes jamming synths. Alone. Social Problems. Problems. Recorded late into the night. Fucking A. That is the business, right there. Check 'Ze Wormnest' or Matthew Young for bleary eyed-no-fan sound destruction. Shit is just creepy-gets under your skin. While most noise youth get their chocolate fingers lost in gadgetry and posturing-something about a synth jam that's just.... Human ... humanly wrong. But fucking right. Right on Hive Mind. Out of some strange comic miasma emerged this hulking thing known for playing in corners or under black sheets with short fingers churning out cosmic tales of bass heavy sheets of molten alien sound cut with xray pirate eyes. Dude is some serious Michigan shit. This sound-injecting terrorist is crew to all the like minded and total jag-off MI underground weirdo brethren's. I think he soaked his pyramid genitals in ice cold antifreeze to get where Death Tone lives in underwater-cave life. Jamz are just lurking around your chest buzzing like a Mike Tyson bee until a nuclear war-spear goes directly into your chest leaving your breath exchanged for Korean X-Files future creature Autopsy scenes. I've been to Roswell, shit is creepy, even at Pizza Hut, mid day. None of my crew jamz synths, some dabble but don't have the slomo overbite terror vision of my man Hive Mind. Isn't your jellied brain a fucking hive? Mine has a really big queen in the center telling me to keep watching The Thing (remake) with the sound off in a super warm birth room while listening to Death Tone on a dying Walkman. I don't listen to the queen, or take advice. Me and my man the Kid thought all Hive Mind needed to hone in his awesome social synth prowess was to be locked in a room with Richard Pinhas for a year on a diet of nothing but snake burritos-but again-no one listens to advice, especially a homeboy. Psychotic drugs, cheap beer, shorties, the Roach, assholes, hung over at work... yesss, heroes to the High Life." [some kind of label-info]
"Weird dudes jamming synths. Alone. Social Problems. Problems. Recorded late into the night. Fucking A. That is the business, right there. Check 'Ze Wormnest' or Matthew Young for bleary eyed-no-fan sound destruction. Shit is just creepy-gets under your skin. While most noise youth get their chocolate fingers lost in gadgetry and posturing-something about a synth jam that's just.... Human ... humanly wrong. But fucking right. Right on Hive Mind. Out of some strange comic miasma emerged this hulking thing known for playing in corners or under black sheets with short fingers churning out cosmic tales of bass heavy sheets of molten alien sound cut with xray pirate eyes. Dude is some serious Michigan shit. This sound-injecting terrorist is crew to all the like minded and total jag-off MI underground weirdo brethren's. I think he soaked his pyramid genitals in ice cold antifreeze to get where Death Tone lives in underwater-cave life. Jamz are just lurking around your chest buzzing like a Mike Tyson bee until a nuclear war-spear goes directly into your chest leaving your breath exchanged for Korean X-Files future creature Autopsy scenes. I've been to Roswell, shit is creepy, even at Pizza Hut, mid day. None of my crew jamz synths, some dabble but don't have the slomo overbite terror vision of my man Hive Mind. Isn't your jellied brain a fucking hive? Mine has a really big queen in the center telling me to keep watching The Thing (remake) with the sound off in a super warm birth room while listening to Death Tone on a dying Walkman. I don't listen to the queen, or take advice. Me and my man the Kid thought all Hive Mind needed to hone in his awesome social synth prowess was to be locked in a room with Richard Pinhas for a year on a diet of nothing but snake burritos-but again-no one listens to advice, especially a homeboy. Psychotic drugs, cheap beer, shorties, the Roach, assholes, hung over at work... yesss, heroes to the High Life." [some kind of label-info]