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Wall Of Ears


Seattle, WA

The album is sewn through with strange clatterings, malarial singing saw and vibraphone, ejaculative guitar, oddities on top of straight pop tonalities. But its sunny, nostalgic harmonies often border on regret. “All your words/used to have meaning/but they lost their cores/float unmoored” he sings on “Autosky.” And then he demonstrates it. The second half of the album devolves into a series of inversions of previous songs, reversed loops, backwards vocals resembling Lynchian tongues. The last track is a terrifying, spoken-word fairytale. The whole experience is gorgeously disorienting, a state in which words, mouths, bodies are moot. We’re a tangle of disassociated parts, an assemblage of organs.