the feeling on this rich, blue-hot hornsby one is that of exquisite elegance in that puffed-up mindless sense

tight, gallopping, mournful, phil

bill and mick dip their toes into a dozen things, keeping their turntablism abreast of the breathing tree of life. Sensational stuff. Continued

everyone impatient to bust out passionate stuff on this searing version

Strap on the goggles and microscopes to find traces of this in jerry's playing as soon as the intro dies down into a no nonsense sparkplug wheel

love it, great call! Summer 85 baby!!

this one’s a rembrandt… screaming tiger work

fuk yea

fantastic version… explosive Phil, jam latent with paranoia and serpentine movement, brent smackin the keys!

A resplendent, muralistic masterpiece. the garbled, submerged revery of a particularly listless mood of Hunter’s lyric flickers in flashes from Jerry’s prior and future selves resounding through the stadium. autobahn jam that brings the modal funk to an altogether different, more minimalist and tranquil place than the modal angst and sometimes discordant, jaggedly dense rhythmic palettes from devils and others. Think 80s. No, this is meant to be as one with itself. A sky passes through its daily course with seasons worth of stars forming trines, transits returns and yods, never contradicting itself, unfoloding with the gasping obviousness of a baby’s breath and total acceptance and love. Darkness be banished.The fire here is a Tolstoy unto itself, just crazy good. big man twirls the constellations and bends the forest with that handsome breakneck grace. And lol dont worry theres enough midi to soundtrack an irreverent japanese action rpg. Seattle love