At least once a month, I find myself crawling through the
woods, drunk off my ass and covered in someone else’s blood. That’s the kind of
experience most of the living world never goes through, but it seems to be a
consistent occurrence in my existence. I often don’t have a music device when I
am doing so (or pants for that matter), but last night I heard the new
Amphibious Man songs in my head as I scrambled to figure out if I were the
hunter or the hunted.
See, I feel a kindred bond with this Brooklyn band (update: who happen to really be from Connecticut). Clearly,
they are made up of like-minded psychopaths that have too much time and audio
tape on their hands. I played the 7 inch backwards, and a message about
disposing of corpses was exposed. Twisted? You bet. But just the kind of music
you need to scare your parents when they no longer fear rappers.
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