#the serfs

But elsewhere, the rhythms get rougher, harder, more insistent.  A post-punk anomie drawls through “The Diceman Will Become.” Distant voices hover like heat mirages on a highway.  But, even so, the drums punch hard and the guitars squall.  There’s blood and guts here, cushioned by layers and layers of dreamy batting. 

It is, perhaps, no coincidence that the album’s opening track bangs the loudest and most undilutely.  “Order Imposing Sentence” bangs the keyboards like its 1980 in Dunedin, howling through a vortex about “offshore oil deals” while the lo-fi pop percolates.  But use that as a north star and you’ll be lost before long.  “Cheap Chrome” pulses belligerently like mid-aughts Oneida, “Suspension Bridge Collapse” bristles with laser guns and sci-fi anxiety, “Ending of the Stream” rattles dopplering drones with explosive drum fills, letting long notes hang until they change shape.   

It’s hard to get a handle on these narcotic but varied cuts.  You imagine a mystic calling out prompts to a sleepwalking ensemble, who do their best to execute his commands, and wake up blinking with no memory of any of it.   Weirdly engaging and never what you expect.