The thick, choking atmosphere of imminent alien invasion coaxed through siren synths, shallow drum machine and witchy samples. Obscure visual accompaniments speak of the fragility of mankind. Your lungs will be removed.
Spectral voices drafting through the fog of washed out guitars and obscure synths. This is Grouper, now more famous for Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill, in an even more more lo-fi and primitive form. Hands press against dirty windows. Insects crawl through the undergrowth. Warm walls of sound are undercut by dissonance.
Glacial movement through foggy chords and suddenly erupting samples. An obscurity of sound that lights the room with dark colours. Yex Pox is a god of sludge, industrial wastepools, polluted rivers, the scum that washed up on miserable uncared-for beaches and your untimely drowning in them.
One miserable autumn evening I ventured into the forests behind my dead grandfather's house. My family had spooked me for years with stories of its haunting - "By the revenants of flesh-hungry ghouls," they claimed, but as a rational being of sound mind I never believed them. It was many years before I went in though. Kept telling myself it was because I was merely appeasing their egos but deep down there was a darker reason, an irrational aversion to its long branches. I stayed away until that miserable evening when a covering of cloud made the forest spectacularly eerie, and knew within one minute that I should have always have stayed away. Strange noises. The greyed bones of old animals. An unearthly smell. Nothing good could exist in there.
Something unnerving lurks at the edge of creaky strings and drilling soundscapes. Always just outside of view, you will go mad trying to glimpse it, trying to reach it, trying to comprehend it you will relent your sanity. Demons will sway their celebratory dance.