CROSSS
LO

THE REVIEW

Do I start from the end or was it the beginning?

The End

A long dark tunnel

A frightened, indefinable female figure. A rocky, hostile world that watches her, a world with gaping jaws.

Naivety and harshness. The two sides of the coin. The limit and the virtue.

Scorching cold. The void wants to soar beyond. Long sepulchral notes. Deaf reverberations come from other dark mysteries. Echoes bounce in my mind. Electric storms

Anguish. 18 minutes. Ecstasy.

How did I end up in this wonderful nightmare? Perhaps a compulsory passage, a stage, the final purification

A heavy door carved with sulfurous guitar vibrations, held shut by catacombal low frequencies

1970. But what year am I in?

The Beginning

A room of mirrors. Distorted images. I recognize faces. Sounds bring me back to my reality.

Black Sabbath.

Confusion. My image in the mirror is familiar to me. But why am I in this place?

"Watch out your mates, they've squeezed you and now they're stepping over you. Even though they'll always think of you when they check their bank accounts."

It comes naturally for me to sing a macabre nursery rhyme, perhaps that is my world. Other worlds, other friends. Damned confusion

Black masses, mad pipers, flowered shirts, sweat, fragrant incense, amplifiers and nursery rhymes

Boulders under the pillows and childish lullabies told by old witches with breath that smells of dreams

Rocky folk resurrected in forgotten ruins.

Punches to the stomach and acidic candies.

90s. But what year am I in?

Indie zombies devour old psycho heavy covers worn out by time.

Putrid grunge, buried under a layer of vinyl slime and flannel. To not even feel the distant memory of its harmful miasmas.

"LO". It echoes in my mind.

But what year am I in? Blessed be the confusion.

Blessed be the music that confuses.