Field Hymns Records

The Machine is ragged and greasy as it plunges through a hellish night thick with angst and sin.  The Cadillac roars towards the dawn, gritty and loose, pushing the moist, dense air aside like a dirty curtain yet the sun never rises and we keep circling, circling, somewhere, in wide long ellipses through the night - the speakers shudder as the bass throbs and oily synths stab and all we can hear after hours and hours of this music - like a cross between Suicide and Cotton Mather -  is that your salvation is nonexistent and that you will be alone, like everyone else.

Limited edition of 100 pro-dubbed & imprinted cassettes w/ download