Paul Green is the controller of a synthetic orchestra of beautifully fluid deeply-layered dark twisting electronic arppegiated synth sounds and the kind of low tempo clicks and glitches that remind you of walking around an old house when you were a kid and getting a bit scared by the creaky staircases.
Imagine Kraftwerk if someone spiked their punch with absinthe, and you're halfway there.
There are noises like a lazy summer biplanes passing through a megaphone and then sounds of lush nebula-soaked space blending into electronic pistons working under an iceberg. Melodic and faintly menacing at the same time, sort of like being in a flotation tank with a stingray. The music seemed to map the gluey neurons that fired as a delicious alarm clock at the end of wintry dream.
Paul Green is the controller of a synthetic orchestra of beautifully fluid deeply-layered dark twisting electronic arppegiated synth sounds and the kind of low tempo clicks and glitches that remind you of walking around an old house when you were a kid and getting a bit scared by the creaky staircases.
Imagine Kraftwerk if someone spiked their punch with absinthe, and you're halfway there.
There are noises like a lazy summer biplanes passing through a megaphone and then sounds of lush nebula-soaked space blending into electronic pistons working under an iceberg. Melodic and faintly menacing at the same time, sort of like being in a flotation tank with a stingray. The music seemed to map the gluey neurons that fired as a delicious alarm clock at the end of wintry dream.