A good comparison for this release might be listening to "fonky" breaks played upstairs from a dark, windowless basement, containing a washing machine with bad bearings traveling through time on its forever spin cycle. I think you also find and listen to a cassette tape with Japanese folk tales on it in this scenario too. WTF?! Just feel your way over to the case of warm Schmidt Ice on the floor in the corner by the washing machine and enjoy while relaxing on one of the cardboard boxes filled with shit that should have just been taken to the dump or the Goodwill. Like that trash you're sitting on and can't throw away, this disc is filled with dingy, black rainbow-colored treasure for collectors that appreciate reflections seen in mud puddles. It's raining outside. No, it's sunny. No, it doesn't matter, because you're drunk in the basement in a form of motion- filled paralysis induced by contemplating the origins of the universe through a frenetic, interpretive dance with rhythmic patterns very close to those on this cacophonous masterpiece.