Operates like the cough syrup-dosed recall of a lost Leloux film, tremulous and unsteady, a sticky ebb and needy pulse of antique futures that is made out of a charming, geeky devotion rather than a distant poster print cool. The guiding aesthetic and patina of acoustic wool keeps everything together. The melodic and percussive invention and just audible vocals serve the atmosphere and thematic conceit a little too slavishly at times, putting BG in front of a potentially more engaging foregrounded M or even TEXT.
Quimper / Dejado
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