More fractured fuzz and psychedelic shred from the God? imprint, this time embracing the faded tape aesthetics and Suicide pulse of Brett Sova's one man head trip. Underneath the shifting cloud of smoke that seems to embrace the entirety of Early Surf there beats a cheap clockwork heart, an insistent chug of drum machine sonics that hot glues the songs to the rails, if only just barely. Atop the mechanical throb, Sova works a web of amplifier spit 'n feedback sweat that shapes his songs more by touch and feel, hammering them into textures rather than snappy pop ditties. When he locks into the deep space burn of heavy automaton mind flayers like "Fractal Ancestry" (probably the highlight here) Sova finds bliss in the overlap of squall against squall, letting the waves of guitar bump into one another in ripples of full sonic analog sweat that penetrates to the bone. There's no sheen in Sova's world but the grit suits him well, feeling like every bit of Early Surf is torn from the gutters in a celebration of amplified filth.
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