Stereo Test in an Abandoned House
As indistinct yet impossible to ignore as the air-tearing huzz and shake of distant construction in the dark. Aside from a small snatch of music-box melody about five minutes into the second side, this is like a braille transcription of a brass-rubbing of a crumbling, oxidised tape loop (fluttering into flinders on playback's final pass) of a codeinated reverie recalling that nightmare you had when you were tiny as a toy, of a mad-haired b&w movie scientist trying to thumb squeaky wet cotton wool balls into your brain through the ears. Don't say you don't remember.
