Gone Is Gone
Echolocation

Discomfort and tissue laxity on the verge of prolapse.

That's what happens in the bathtub when I stay soaked beyond the limits allowed by dermal physiology while listening to Gone Is Gone.

I frantically search for that last bit of soap immersed in the tub, probably hidden under my now overly pruned scrotum from the thermal warmth, and a sense of anonymity emerges among the tracks of this debut work.

It's not necessarily the prolonged hot bath's emollient effect making my manhood resemble Paul the octopus, and its precious epithelium stretched to the size of a picnic tablecloth.

It's precisely Echolocation.

And yet there's Troy Sanders, bass and vocals of Mastodon, but not the intricate compositional structure of Mastodon.

There's Tony Hajjar on drums, but no trace of the unruly rhythms of At The Drive In.

Even Troy Van Leeuwen manages the regrettable feat of not delivering a single robot-hypnotic riff of Queens Of The Stone Age.

Well, fuck it then.

What remains is the bitter aftertaste of betrayed expectation, irritation over the squandering of talent sacrificed on the altar of a polished production for tracks lingering around a listenable and fairly dignified alternative rock, just slightly enhanced by a decent use of electronics (Mike Zarin, keyboards).

Pop medal I'd say, with various influences. That winks too much and eventually doesn’t know where to go. No identity, a technical patchwork but without depth.

While I linger in bellybutton cleaning, I can only blame myself; it was all obvious and predictable.

And I think of overflowing teams of stars that have never achieved anything… the Gunners finalists of the Champions, the formidable Clockwork Orange of Cruyff and Neeskens, or Matra Racing of Ginola, Littbarski, and Francescoli http://thevintagefootballclub.blogspot.it/2011/05/matra-racing-1988-89.html

As if too much class needed space to dissolve in progression.

Emptiness and fullness, Yin and Yang, dust and crystal.

Mutually necessary elements.

Failing teams, like all musical "supergroups," in fact.

I get out of the bath with still dripping extremities and with the firm intention of re-establishing the right roughness.

I choose Leviathan...

The self-titled QOTSA

Relationship of Command

We immediately recover the auditory homeostasis, and with it my cheerful good mood.

And let's get this damn soap out of my ass.