Toiling Midgets
Dead Beats

THE REVIEW

Even though it was released after the indispensable "Sea of Unrest," this work confirms their initial vocation of being an instrumental band. After the vocal storms of Ricky Williams that produced an unavoidable nausea, they reclaim the aphonia of a sound that roams freely in the depth of the night amidst the encrustations of San Francisco.

It goes without saying that all the pieces are full of invisible expectations where a cinematic vein of metropolitan psychic introspections peeks out, remnants of mental concerns in not grasping the connection that would lead to solving the "mystery."

And one remains suspended in that evanescent chase, with an almost masochistic hope of not closing the police case so as not to disturb the hidden atmosphere of anguish in this missed pursuit, where endless darkness entwines us, dragging us into an uninterrupted noir film where the "crime" is constantly evolving, where the expectation of a forced demise is mystified by the shadow of blood.

The horror of rationalizing the action is spared us, where a soundtrack that plays a mysterious cabaret, entrusting the translation to a phantom subway-rock, fades away on its own, unnoticed by us disappearing, we with them...