Boiling hot slab of low-end frequency nightmares courtesy of Covington’s finest. Gotta play this one LOUD to drill the summer moths right out of your ears and get them to dance their sweet sweeet courtship around your skull. Totally grimey and buried under streams of sticky icky syrup… it never ends. Tones fray like worms up from the Ohio Valley dirt, morph into cords coiled on the damp practice room floor, crawl the walls, and stitch themselves into the sky. The fabric is infinite, in/of everything. Driving a spike into a particularly pure vein of a raw soul’s haze hidden in the forearm of our fucked psyche; Pootlinautch unfurls from fractured, feedback crystal-divining into slow-burn gravitational mass into astral motion/destruction. Packaging is hand-drawn crayon explorations concealed within unique handmade sock puppets representing the varied faces of the Young Freebooter; limited to 16 pieces.
cassette artwork (click for bigger)
downloads available from Young Freebooters.
