Emotions, vibes and moods blend into each other like shape-shifting swingers in a Brian Yuzna nightmare. We sense scaly beasts crawling under the emerald prairies of our Arcadian gardens.
Tim Story’s 1984 album Untitled illustrates such hybridisation. Approached from one side, it is all pristine piano melodies and mellow ambient-scapes subtly rearranging your soul with a feng-shui algorithm. Approached from another, it is a an exploration of an abandoned house full of unsprung psychic traps worthy of Stephen King or Peter Straub.
Sargasso makes us imagine John Carpenter working on the soundtrack for a John Hughes film, or Brian Wilson returning the favour in Profondo Rosso or Don’t Look Now. An awful darkness is revealed in the soul of that wholesome and charismatic character everyone trusted. We glimpse the motivations of the monstrous killer, understand the logic behind this trail of dead and forgive.
Opposites blend like ectoplasmic tendrils precipitating out of a psychic’s orifices in the doctored photo of a 19th century seancé, bringing separate parts of the universe together, and this way adding to the total sum of goodness.
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