Clenched Fist's handmade CD-R is a practice in restraint. Sewn up with black thread, hand-painted dark brown on black, with a mounted image of four tiny, burning satellites or white dots on paper. Hand-painted mahogany CD.
Starts off with vocal excercises halfway between aping aleatoric wind rustling and spinning bowls and some kind of joke, and it's your call who's putting on whom. Drums and distant whirligig synth enter in and what can only be called art school tribal sets in (actually, Bard-tribal, apparently). The album proceeds to flit through gorgeous ambience and stretches that revisit the dry vocalizations and spare synth that opened. Things start to get serious, but never vicious or violent: track 4's delayed percussive breakdown is authentic and lively. A journey worthy of the subtle price of admission.
