the best

Ecstatic keeps releasing outstanding music. I predict an ‘RA label of the month’ soon.

Abul and I were chatting on the veranda mixing collated doilies with triangular bullshit when it occurred to me that I hadn’t done a dense, cryptic review of his album for my avid fans on Nodata.tv yet. Willickers! I exclaimed, the veritable shifts of constancy were worth another five nights at least (By night, by night, by night, by night). I put down my Thomas Pynchon book and began regurgitating last night’s acid trip in the form of blatantly bad poetry. But soft, what hardness could release me now? The fifth and fourth reminder would serve as a harshly delivered urination on my soul. I see myself as more of an artist than a critic, but to let down my children at Nodata would mean to leave them at peace with their own opinions without considering mine. Mine which is the snow that covers the weeping willow tree, mine which is an inflatable bear trap of overindulgent word vomit, mine which cannot be touched by the mind without half an art degree and a portfolio of desperately drawn poop. Mine, mine, mine. A miner’s ghost once told me to embrace the poop, and since then I’ve been a level 5 guru of this thing we call LIFE. I didn’t listen to this album, I don’t NEED to listen to the album. what is an album? I know this though for sure, my text is wholly holy and spritely spiritual. My influence is miniature and mostly imagined. But my ART will service the next generation of miners in prospecting the sonic gemstones of my anus deep into the night. Bon appetit, miners, bon appetit. 10/10. what do you think?

The pure art of hype and boomkat hoopaloopa will prevail over our common sense. Many have charted this territory but their endeavours remain blind to us. May the voices of many give weight to the things that have no value.

thank u!!

amazing, thank you.

Nothing like mogard for the quasi-exotica and rainforest ambient sounds that i CRAVE

The synth arpeggios help, forming that warm cocoon that walks the line between womb-like and smothering — one smiling doctor in a blank modernist room away from insanity. It’s the washes of noise, gently placed in each ear that seals it. Hiding in the periphery of the soundscape, erupting distantly, an unwelcome memory of the messy world outside the synthetic womb. A reminder of the artificiality of the world that Abul’s constructed for us, with his synthesisers and fear.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Paradoxical and luminous, like rainstorms from a undefined past