2.8.19 by Ryan Masteller

Guilt. It sits there in your stomach like a lump of undigested beef, festering next to the liver and the kidneys and the duodenum until you can’t take it anymore and are forced to do something about it. Admit to whatever it is that’s making you feel guilty, maybe. Apologize for it. Anything to alleviate the pressure of despondency it’s causing, the claustrophobia of its menacing presence. It’s suffocating living under a veil of total guilt.

Here on “Anthology One” we’re living under a veil of tonal GUiLT, capitalized weirdly because I’m now referring to it as a proper name, and tonal because we’re hearing it. GUiLT specializes in experimental drone, the kind that keeps you on edge, that makes you grit your teeth upon hearing it, grinding away at those molars for the entire hour GUiLT’s recorded oeuvre is playing. At times ominously drifting, at others ear-splittingly intimidating, at even others scolding in its use of samples, “Anthology One” plays like a song cycle for the inner demons hammering away at your black heart. It’s hellish, but not in the fire-and-brimstone-y way popularized ever-so-effectively by Dante Alighieri. No, this hellscape is crafted by the absence of reason and logic, by the fear of the unknown, by the feelings of being alone with your internal pain and suffering for eternity. Here, GUiLT/guilt reigns supreme, an ever-present reminder that something’s gone horribly amiss, and you’re now powerless to rectify it, no matter how much you want to.

That’s real GUiLT.

Or you can turn off this tape and go say you’re sorry and immediately start feeling better about yourself. But why would you ever want to do that???

Why would you indeed. You can still grab one of these from Lurker Bias if you’ve got the stomach for it.