white vinyl edition
The debut transmission from this new handsome London outfit is a perfect tonic to the tedious surfeit of 'post-punk' referencing acts sleazing their way around the capital at the moment. Self-recorded/mixed and all other things in an east London basement/bedroom over the past year or so, you get the sense of a group immune to the fashions of the surrounding world, of one stretching out into their own hermetic self-mythology. The clues are there in the band name and album title. Is this a cult? Well, i wouldn't mind something new to believe in and follow around. And so the music itself? There's 35 minutes of repeat phrased guitars, slow-clipped drums and shared vocals where the recurring landscape seems to be the psychic desert and the outliers who might populate it, stuck somewhere within the narctic fog of VU and BJM. There's reel-to reel-loops of Afghan music alongside found sound overlays of voices recorded in pharmacy queues and drum machines reminescent of the scene built around legendary Spanish imprint DRO. It makes for a strange psychic brew, built of imagined mysticism and domestic realities, of fever dreams and days that stretched into weeks of months. In short, a very compelling introduction to a new gang of outsiders. Maybe time to let them in?