A Word on Aluminum Knot Eye

Bands waxing poetic about all things urban, the city slime, skyscrape scuzz, downtown debauch, smog smiles, crime time, money for cunny, various other boheme botherations: They're dime/duz. By-the-numbers units staffed by displaced suburbanites playing dress-up in the big, bad metrocenter. They don't get it. They don't understand the value of the rural vantage point. They don't know about the hopelessness (and subsequent liberation) in small-town solitude, the eternal dark corner found in vast forests, plains, hills, ponds, swamps, bogs, marshes. Not like the fish-faced mongos in Aluminum Knot Eye. Nope.

And in dark corners: That's where AKE sounds best. They thrive in 'em. Outward or inward, physical or personal. Doesn't matter. Go on, find your apartment's dimmest nook/cranny. Hide out for awhile. Then work on your innards: Grab that drink, recall past transgressions with the ex, think about your shitty job. Suspend disbelief long enough to wallow in the muck/mire of your ownpersonal recesses, those unlit margins of twilight country
criss-crossing your noodle. Then throw on this rec.

Soon enough, Keith's troggy caterwaul will rip through your thoughts, and the loping drums will mimic pastoral repetition (for miles beyond), and as the tangled guitar and off-center synth dance like a half-cocked geez with the tractor keys, you'll know exactly where you are. As AKE works itself over in the primordial ooze, as they roll in the mud, walk on moonshine, run a radiogram through your bim gene and wade through the thicket to find their nearest dark corner -- wherever it may be -- may you think Cripes awmighty that there's a group of misanthropes honest and stubborn enough to help you find yours. Even though you probably don't deserve it.