Emperor Jones
Limited to 490 hand screen-printed copies.
"An engineer dealing with frequencies that are knocking over his five-pound Catholic candles as he's recording strangers should have the good temper to control the earthquake he didn't anticipate. Melbourne's Grey Daturas camped out in Austin's hi-fi Infinity Recording for one day and borrowed cabinets that nearly reached the ceiling, cooking up 34 minutes of disturbing waves that seemed on the verge of opening the Balcones Fault's limestone and lava. Lots of drone albums loom in the racks, sure. But if you, listener, perceive this long-playing record as whatever drone or doom metal, is, then you, Madame Blahg, are as simple-headed as Bush Jr. doing lines while watching a hurricane on CNN. You can hear this trio feeling each other a year ago, as these A and B sides spin in '08 in your living room: a triad with cleared heads and no preconception, speaking to each other with demonic waves, while not once looking at the other's eyes or hands nor saying a word. Not bad, considering they withstood a night of broken glass with Texas mental-case bands at the club just hours before. So why did they do this? I'll tell you why, Jimmy Somerville: because like Asia, they were a group in the heat of the moment who shat out the most bone-crunching session of glistening murk that this state has experienced since Roky and Josefus jammed some heavy-mental during a '72 rehearsal (google it, killer bootleg). Maybe something should be said about what it sounds like. Shit. "