Epic doesn’t have to mean shitty unicorns jumping over the Grand Canyon while dolphins suck them off, rainbows issuing from their blowholes. As any quick survey of chaos theory will supply, we know so little about fungus, foam, what compels people become parking police, and synapses that control addiction—the itty-bitty shit that should already be conquered but is fascinatingly complex. We March are broken egg yolks, diseases that shouldn’t exist because the vaccine’s already been made, ice the color and texture of asphalt taking up the side of winding country road, an ungrounded plug in a socket with unregulated current, pee mixing with blood and used oil with charred bits floating in it. Basically, you don’t know what you’re going to get, but the stage is set for someone to break a bone or hearts. Musically, this is in a Fleshies, This Moment In Black History, early Stooges, Chargers Street Gang sort of way. It’s a dirty, seemingly unstructured chaos that, with repeat listens, is really a thousand dirty-fingernailed fists hammering ears at once, striking all that harder because you don’t quite know what the fuck’s coming next. Excellent.
–todd (Non-Prophet, no address, but when you Google the name, an ad for joining the Mormons comes up.)