88 Ultra

Sirens snuggles up on my hand like the tightest mink hobo gloves ever manually woven and kicks me in the domepiece like the feet of 1,000 cherubs: 500 gleeful, 500 morose. If balls have a face and my face has balls, Sirens kicked my balls in the face. It's the ferocious phalanx that is the guiding thread/light of Blue Sky Black Death's 2013 megawork Glaciers and the immaculate continuation that is GLACIERS//MELTED.

Breadth is a constant companion that courses through the Lava Lamp-laden landscape that is Sirens; feebly attempting to constrict the dimensions to which it effortlessly, gracefully travels. All I've been able to see when I caress myself as of late is the technicolor mermaid gracing the cover bearing her glorious chesticles to me as she emerges from the merciless sea to offer me Fentanyl Popsicles.

88 Ultra (aka Kingston who serves as 1/2 of Blue Sky Black Death) is definitively the Brian Eno of the New Beat Millennium. There's no other way to communicate how phenomenally he's transformed the idea of the staid "instrumental." Largely typing: "instrumental" albums are self fodder for masturbatory bloggers and wannabe gangbangers with chinks in their armor. They are the mundane, obstreperous car crashes caused by a Freestyle Douche getting way too hype in the course of his morning commute.

Sirens spectacular, soaring first seventeen minutes are triumphant and resounding: the force of "Southern Nights", the pristine "Wish For More", and the Xanaxed "Oceans" all climb in unison to the peak of a pulchritudinous pyramid. Perhaps I'm loose and spruce like a Chartreuse Goose looking for a girl with a big caboose; or my Pleasuring Of The Self has ranged from sparse to nonexistent in the New Year's nadir: But this album has helped in alleviating my angst like an action-packed evening consisting of HAIM and Ativan.

Alongside its palliative features lives a remarkable array of existential bridges and pulsating plateaus. All of these competing interests collide and explode on the expertly brooding "A Thousand & One." Littered with found flourishes from Young God, No Merci, and Raised By Wolves, it's chords do not crest or rest; rather they stretch into a shape and size that surpasses time, space, horoscopes, and the fortunes of a million cookies.

Truth be typed, I was ill-equipped to fathom wrapping my ears around the echoes of an effort from Blue Sky Black Death that matched the ferocious expansiveness of Glaciers or its superb sister GLACIERS//MELTED. However, in the span of one measly, dirty year, fifty-percent of the disseminating duo has deployed a desiccation-proof door of dynamite bearing a fuse that reaches earth along with everything else. Pack an enormous bowl and/or fire up a , viscous, bulbous ball of wax, press 'Play', and erase your world to the sounds of Sirens.