like crystal radio receivers powered by leaking car batteries randomly attuned to pick up garbled slices of hyper carrier waves, the magnetic stereo tape release Distant Space Confined on Hospital Productions echoes the dark and deep distant time death throes of entire worlds in seemingly empty space. Faint signals which relate cataclysmic events millions of aeons back or forward, catapulted in angles which should not exist, through the cracked veneer of a holographic sideshow universe. Electric amplification discloses the threatening majesty of slowly pulsating, dying stars colliding with near-light speed at the rim of mirror-folding, space- time anomalies, producing unheard textures and throbbing rhythms. Recording devices track the hum of seeming endless churning background radiation mixed with delayed shades of unintentional harmonies produced by shock waves of negative gravity. The pig chatter audio output pummeling ever greater reaches of matter of all descriptions in the wake of a perpetually accelerating chaos. Signals without sender. Morphing and dissolving. Reassembled and blasted back curve ball sonic atrocities. Alfarmania and Proiekt Hat channel what’s left of Hell’s phantom blade, inviting you to bounce your astral ass off jet-propelled and shape-shifting foreign objects invisible to the naked mind into time-bending sinkholes in five dimensions, and urge capitulation to the sinister void concentrates they serve and observe, spitting the leftovers out in another time, shape, and form. It is your call. It is their calling.

Packaged in custom ‘coffin’ clamshell case. No download code.