I’ve been anticipating this pressing, like most things stamped with the PT moniker, but aside from remembering an interesting lengthy “back-and-forth” email session between the PT warden, Wm. Berger, and myself about random ass kraut/psyche/experimental shit one afternoon where he’d mentioned finishing up the work on this recording the whole thing became a fast blur until I finally received it upon release and my rusted neurons began to reclaim memory of it. Basically it’s a NYC ecclectic duo of Bianca Biblioni (Ala Muerte) and Joshua Slusher (Opponents, Goblin War Trio, etc.) but aside from that there’s really nothing BASIC to this collaboration, especially when moving beyond the mere credentials of the names and treading the tidal surge of this  off-the-cuff nightmarish hallucinogenic zen trance led by a substantial pounce of click-glitch electronic beats.

In classic Prison Tatt fashion this is a one-sided LP consisting of two songs of decent length that more than make-up for being somewhat of an EP (that is 1/2 a 12″), but if you put it on “repeat” and let it glisten in the dim room light as the clicks of minimal techno styled tribal rhythms  further surrounding you  with lush ritualistic hums of dark ceremonial fogs rolling in it all begins to coalesce into hours of monkish brain pausing and time seemingly evaporates along with with any directly conscious awareness. Both songs, whether they be acknowledged together as a unit or looked at individually, remind me of some of my favorite moments of Muslimgauze, especially with the exotic flare of ethnic electronic percussion clothed in rags of ghostly ambience, although I can also sense a definite throwback to various Cold Meat Industry acts such as Coph Nia and Raison D’Etre, especially in “Aycayia” where there’s an ugly and terrifying industrialized/mechanical torture den aura in the placement of the beats and some of the other sculpted sounds enhanced through the presence of  perverted  metaphysical/ethereal, ritual/martialist layers.

The LP begins with a seemingly benign “Scritch”, a sort of robotic glitch drum machine drone façade swathed in an ephemeral drift of spectral entities whooshing through the pulsing body acting as a gateway through which the mind diffuses easily into the malevolent underbelly of “Aycayia”. Once the ethereal barrier has been passed “Aycayia” is the sudden realization that the meditational spectral trance was merely a dangerously seductive rouse to render the mind paralyzed in the now tangible web of murder and sadistic mind games. You may come willingly for the pleasantry of the doped ear candy zen of “Scritch” but “Aycayia” is the tear and urine stained mattress in the back of the windowless van you will awaken face down and gagged on.  And with that said Creeplings will certainly deliver something that is molesting to the neurological system through simple elements precisely placed with confounding accuracy that they transform into something that feels safe and “neighborly” upon first blip and chirp but venture too close beyond the grooving “welcome mat” and suddenly that enticing invite becomes a chloroform haze of life stuffed under floor boards through which daily life’s mundane sounds become apparitions of a narco induced nightmare. Through throbbing electronic pulses of bass drum, much like echoes of pacing footsteps overhead, blend with techno snare clicks syncopated as a heartbeat of someone in panic stricken sensory overload whilst the siren and wailing metallic frequencies cloud the mind with psychedelic melts of industrial like dripping hot plastic that cools to a bizarre stringy ooze as it congeals, prepare to abandon all hope and mental faculties.

YES, this is essential.

Please listen responsibly.

Limited to 100 slabs of cool and glossy polymer resin housed in collages screen printed in nostalgic watered down white ink on black heavy weight cardboard, it’s as much an art piece for the eyes as it is the mind and ears.