Kyuss
Blues For The Red Sun

THE REVIEW

Ollà ollà.
The combo is back, it devastates the pavilion and enters with constant force...
Friction, let me feel the friction!
All of this can be depleting, yet when I hear this record, I revel in my excretions: the beautiful ones, the warm ones...

It begins by castrating the pig, then it's brought to the center of the square and from there the pieces of the slaughter are distributed to all present.
Rebecca has been tasked today to eat the phallus; then the procession moves towards the river. It skirts the bushes, the smell of hawthorn becomes penetrating, the path slithers like a longing tongue all the way to the water.
Our hands, stained with blood from the meal, dye the river's current red.
Rebecca unfastens her braids, there are still two red streams running down her mouth, she hasn't cleaned herself after the meal, she stands in the middle of the stream and raises her arms... she begins to sing:
"Come, come lambs to the baptism..." The elders take the younger ones by the hand, and gradually they immerse; the splashes rise and the cool of the waves contrast with the warmth left on their hands, after the cutting of the meat.
Four hours later, in the village further south, a woman hanging sheets, white against the sun, saw many small backs floating downstream, carried by the river's infinite and unchanging motion.