Alio Die
Password for Entheogenic Experience

THE REVIEW

… And while leaves, now yellowed, are condemned to death by Autumn, I am drawn into the undefined sensation of not having always existed and of not being able to exist forever.

A long sonorous palpitation born of the swamp and mother to dark dissonances that relentlessly question.

A hidden centripetal force triggered by the sinister movement of dense, porous drones intertwining on modulations muddied with dirt and fog.

Electronic coils of a material and sinuous serpent extend into the darkness, and on some scales, faint bronze reflections glimmer like rare specks of gold illuminated by a clear full moon.

The rustling of wheat stalks swayed by the night wind, the screech of Hamlet-like owls, the tingling of invisible insects. Ancient sampled languages officiate the rhapsody while vague percussion and Tibetan bells evoke the voice of forgotten oracles.

And the liturgy completes itself in a gravely final crescendo where the slow and tentacular rituals of Vidna Obmana are dissolved in the gothic austerity of Sam Rosenthal.

… And when everything is over, the undefined sensation finally has a name, or rather... A sound.