Maieutique de la Quantique
A horrific grandchild springs from the magma: ILITCH'll itch your progadelic scratch with it's well manicured talons of fire. This Ilitchian renaissance zigs deep space experimental and zags full metal Zuehl. Electronics chirp and howl like the opening coda of Susperia, then explode into Weidorje intensity fuzz violence, cheered on by a pecussive force that sounds like Mussolini being kicked to death. The shifting interplay between total rockers and extraterrestrial missions makes this a powerful release. The concrete tracks reek of classic Kraut weirdness, punctuated by noises that could only come from the melt that is Ilitch.