11.13.19 by Ryan Masteller

You gotta be shitting me, right?

This solid mass of shifting noise and effect-drenched drone is like a biohazard of gastrointestinal upheaval. It’s uncomfortable, it’s loud, and it’s gurgly, and I’m sure if it had a color upon pouring out of your speakers, it would be brown. That or the same nasty toxic green as the tape shell. Actually, that’s an excellent shade of toxic green. Almost tilts into the “ecto” spectrum.

Manure Movers of America are doing our dirty work for us. Because if somebody’s gotta do it, why can’t it be somebody other than me? That’s where the Manure Movers come in. They’re so happy to shovel us out of our own shit, they practically revel in the act. “Cassette Tape # 2” is therefore something of a field recording, in that we’re being graced with the result of that labor, the psychic representation of wandering through a swamp of someone else’s sewage. It’s also not a field recording at all, but the actual source material created by Manure Movers of America. It’s all of us and none of us, everything and nothing.

I don’t know either – look, I just ate a bunch of tacos, and this is sort of reminding me what’s happening in my gut right now, so I’m not too focused on stringing thoughts together. Pretty soon the descriptive review copy “splattered with static and dissonance like a sewer line backing up and out one end” that I was gonna somehow weave in here is going to be more real to me than I had hoped. I guess sometimes you just have to embrace the quease. Just like I’m currently doing.

(By the way, if “You gotta be shitting me” isn’t part of your opening line about this tape, we’re coming for you. We’re gonna revoke THE HECK out of your music-reviewer credentials.)

This disgusting thing available in a run of 100 from our friends at Already Dead.