Silent creeping and articulated flurries come out of guitars, sax and clarinet like the most natural thing in the world. Even in its “uneasy” parts, Forsyth and Heenan’s speech flows and pads, making itsy-bitsy particles on the course to an absolutely non-viable consonance. The music, characteristically imaginative and full of breathing spaces, also consists of plunks and whirring hoaxes likely to have your nose itchy and your ears in need of a good reassessment of their sound-catching capabilities. Sudden illusory hooks make you follow invisible patterns, through which the two Chrises will leave you naked with all your presumptions while their instruments keep the placid sabotage going, its results finding you still wandering clueless.


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