Bright Channel

Sleep pumped through an atomizer. A vast battlefield littered with phoenix feathers and dying warrior elephants. Cough syrup used as embalming fluid and flushed through the collapsed blood vessels of Western ontology. Lagoons full of discarded time. A fossilized spinal column, cervical to coccyx, from a human-Yeti love child. Genealogies incontrovertibly linking Herodotus, Jesus Christ, Jacques DeMolay, Rasputin, Eugene Debs, Edgar Cayce and Bill Gates into a single regal bloodline. A suicide attack against gravity. Brainstems impaled on the tusks of clocks. Orion the Hunter skull-fucking the Horsehead Nebula.

In other words, Self-Propelled, Bright Channel's new, home-recorded full-length, not only outshines the group's Steve Albini-produced debut, but it will induce the heaviest hallucinations and peripheral phantasmagoria since Joy Division, Scratch Acid and Mogwai dropped peyote and composed a century-long opera based on the rise and fall of the Soviet space program. Bright Channel is charting new cartographies that blur and then obliterate borders between shoegazer, stoner rock and the realms of perception and death itself. Here's your ticket.


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