Australian pit-rock flail (pit can either be a quarry or a basement full of armpit stink, you make the call, or the La Brea Tar Pits, or the Dead C’s studio My Pit, but not Brad Pitt, or Mr. Pitt from “Seinfeld,” or the Pitt Panthers, or Pagoda’s Michael Pitt, or Eddy Current Suppression Pit). One side sounds like a Trapdoor Fucking Exit outtake, and the other follows the mechanical sci-fi pack in the Beverly Hillbillies’ car, skiffling and oscillating along the way. It ain’t often that things like this just happen, especially considering the label only made 100 of this one, and went so far as to attack with a hole punch the white dust sleeve that serves as the record’s only protection against the world. This one’s only got a few ideas, but they are expansive in these hands, and really all they need. Would you pay $16 for it? Seventy-two of you will be answering that question pretty soon. (http://www.greatdividing.com)
(Doug Mosurock)