Freakish and frequently blasted guttural rumblings and ramblings emerge out of Cruudeuces "Bird Calling In TheGhetto", one of the new tapes from a batch of releases on the fresh "Wet Merchants" label. The first side opens with a pitchin' bitchin' rattle and a trotting giant beckoning in the tired moan that works on the soft parts of your grey matter throughout. Don't be fooled by the fry, this is careful stuff. Nathaniel Brennan throws down as many thin slices of sound as he does slabs, and it just keeps coming. The buzz grows fuzz on it, never breaking from its initial impulse. This release manages intensity as well as a kind of simplicity and hoody-up, head boppin' to the smell of burning watt blow-outs chilldom. The lobe shattering on side A continues with visions of day to day life... too busted to hear its own footsteps. Layers fuse together and then split apart again. It is hard to tell, but most of the time it feels like he is working with just a couple of pieces of sound at once, which makes for a very direct transmission.
Side B opens with a duet between said bird and a stoned bumble-bee. The rattle bitches a little, and then an orator sweeps through. This is straight tape music, but served up in the best way. What sound like horns, move like worms, burrowing through the dirty drone and then suddenly hitting upon something worthy of a holler. The resounding call of???? Think: Dune. The drone continues and gets colder and colder, descending into sub-terrestrial zoner land - accompanied consistently by wrecked commentary. The final bit of stripped down syrup smear jams, moves away from the cyclical, rhythmic groove just in time for you to put your pants back on.
The sounds here are surprisingly organic. The way that Brennan attends to rhythm and pulse and where he chooses to place his layers, allow the piece to grow on its own in a really free way. There is no question that he is guiding this ship - but it is one hell of a jungle ark that he is steering through the streets.
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