“Texture. A nice word, wouldn’t you say, settling into the audible dis-course with whiffs of sophistication, complexity, depth. The Oxford English Dictionary gives us “the constitution, structure, or substance of anything with regard to its constituents or formative elements”. Merriam-Webster offers “the disposition or manner of union of the particles of a body or substance”. And here, courtesy Barstool Mountain, III, a deep-dive into fractured reservoirs of textural dis-course, whiffs of smudged sophistication, crusted complexity, substance over style.
Nine months on from the maiden ‘Stool drop, the aims of Mattias Gustafsson’s Altar of Flies alter-ego swim into red-rimmed, bleary-eyed focus: less the painstakingly plotted array of elliptical rabbit holes, more the going full brute on the ass. Still as ever moored to that measured sense of deliberation and patience, but distilled to the chase, not so much hurried as harried, frazzled, grizzled, hair askew and sticking, chunks ripping off chunks galore, the dread and thrill of discovery fueling fresh flush-faced lurch through weathered beaten fabrics, brute-conditioned deliberations teasing jeweled moldering gristle-chunks from crusted rippling crunch-pockets.
Textures, in other words. Thick chunky crunch-bludgeon. Gloomy deep-sunk, acoustic, cave-clunk. Char-burnt ripped-to-shit-electro bleed-weepage. Machine-on-the-fritz skewering wheedle-mouthed scree-shriekage. Amplified hum-drizzle working smoked out murk-corridor. Moldering grinding-down-the-will dirge-crumble.
Textures. A chunks-inducing smorgasbord’s worth. The depth of complexity and sophistication turning on the inclination to follow a fractured dis-course of cracks rendering fissures rendering cracks rendering…well. Lots of rabbit holes to be sure, fractured reservoirs of textural perception flooding with spirals of self-exploded gristle-churn, high pressured scrunch particles erupting and ripping in amongst the other, rippling crunch vectors yielding new depths to plunder, new terrains to explode, inverted mountains going full brute on the ass. So yes, agreed, possibly no less the experience in simply sitting back to revel in brute bludgeoning raw. Full disclosure, I like the style.” – (Soddy)