Boris
-Flood-

The lightness of the ocean seen as a sky. The heaviness of the infinite tons of water.

Hypnotized by the shimmering wash of the shoreline, we strain our ears. And from the terrifying depths rises a psalm, the voice of planet Earth calling us.

It's a minimalist Jimi Hendrix, underwater and exhausted; the divine allure of the sea that kills. Mist clouds sweep the beach, shivers of unease shake the surface in slow waves.

Only 70 minutes of potential energy accumulating; overflowing in steam from the edge of a non-drone, non-doom, non-ambient vessel. The best album by Boris is an immense vortex lost in the Pacific; it draws in and sucks away, slow but relentless like an intergalactic black hole, the psyche of sailors.

Ungrammatical, lopsided, smudgy, full of imperfections quietly breaking against each other. It doesn't collapse, it doesn't implode, it flows. No catharsis: the malevolent/beneficent power of nature, latent.

You won't find intellectual pretensions when the fuzzzzz of water molecules floods your city, Boris essentially don't care. As if nothing happened, they come ahead of SunnO))) of White2 and Earth of HEX.

But remember: it's always just rock'n'roll.