Tabs Out | JESSOP&CO. – Cream

JESSOP&CO. – Cream
6.26.17 by Ryan Masteller


JESSOP&CO., our mates – MATES – from Calcutta, bring the noise once again with “Cream,” a two-track, one-track-per-side flabbergast of densely layered drone and field-recorded freak samples on SØVN. Yeah I used “flabbergast” as a noun, so what? That’s what JESSOP&CO. do to me, make me throw all the rules I’ve ever known about the English language out the window. I wigged out over “Manly Man,” and at some point there will be a link to the equally nastified “A Perfect Example Of Disloding” (it’ll post, honest), but CREAM is another beast altogether. Sure, SØVN refers to Eraserhead, Lynch’s debut film and paean to anxiety, and the label’s not talking out of one of its pneumatic tubes connecting to the mailroom. “Dead Hair” is so creepy and so tactile that it’s almost touchable, but you mustn’t touch, because it will damage any soft tissue it comes in contact with. Consider that my warning to you. Consider also that you can’t literally touch sound, so you’re probably perfectly safe around it. But it’s still a wacky trip, man!

Imagine going from Eraserhead to something much more pleasant, like “Flower Hung,” a beautiful droning vision that meanders in and out of various hypnotic states, bordering on dream logic and vivid hypnogogia. It’s like the Lady in the Radiator melted in slow motion and turned into all the pastel colors of a sunset before dispersing her molecules over wide swaths of the earth. If that don’t get you going, try this: “Flower Hung” makes David Lynch look like an IDIOT for even TRYING to do anything remotely interesting with sound design in ERASERHEAD! … Haha, OK, not really, but it really is a wondrous cloud of sentient pollen infiltrating the cilia of our lungs in an attempt to make us feel a little better about ourselves after “Dead Hair.” Maybe it’s the close proximity of the two disparate experiments that acutely sets into relief their finer points. That’s probably it.

“Cream” is limited to 40 copies, and comes in a plastic bag with a sticker and a slip of paper that looks sort of like a packing slip, sort of like a prescription. But a prescription for what? What am I, a doctor? YOU read the instructions. YOU figure it out.

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