Long-time underground heroes Miguel Perez (La Mancha Del Pecado) and Lee Stokoe (Culver) reunite for another surge of teeming drone oblivion. This transatlantic hook-up is available on tape only, as befits Culver’s avowedly non-digital presence, although the fact that one can find out about it on the Invisible City Bandcamp is, for the enigmatic Stokoe, as mainstream as doing a big-bucks sponsorship deal with a technology megacorp. Mind you, would it be a bad thing if every new smartphone came pre-loaded with 40 minutes of lingering bass dread? Think about it, yeah?
Business plans aside, Volume 7 is a fetid and contaminated heap of drool as you could need at this time of year. Side A kicks off with a liturgical organ drone that’s as perfectly Satanic as an upside-down Christmas tree. The looming heave is as intimidating as a Giallo nightmare, but its lurid tones are gradually subsumed into a grainy swarm, each molecule vibrating with dark frequencies whose cumulative effect is that of perpetually teetering on the edge of a vast abyss.
Flip the tape and folkish guitar notes edge slowly out into the air. Looping and overlapping, they perform a dreamy melodic dance against a thrumming backdrop of synthetic glower. The guitar recalls Perez’s other alter ego, The Skull Mask, in its adept simplicity, and as it fades from earshot to leave a barren wasteland full of windblown moans and guttural cries. We wander aimlessly in this ruined terrain until as the spools chug out, hoping against hope that we’ll find again the solace of these gentle melodies. You’d be lucky.