Megan James gives the creep of “Lofticries” flashes of a warmer depth. Whale-dance synth guards otherworldly vocals at a pacing similar to a headache and its resounding confirmation of circulation’s surging birth and plundering death. It dips and dives in repeated bursts that freshen upon constant reprise, and radiates like the dazzle of sun-hit sight. “Lofticries” is an icescape, sharply textured, hazed only by hailstone beats and lullaby strains, peaked by words so enticing: “your precious, fractured skull”, “use your oily fingers”, and “trembling thighs”.
[PURITY-RING. Matt Pasquarello, you are the artist above.]