w-x: s/t

“I think of this record as kind of a ‘Tim Presley reads his book on tape,’ the story of life in Los Angeles flowing like the low moisture river that it is. The start is uphill, long and slow, and you ponder when you will be spat out onto the straight away. By the time ‘Clean It Glen’ kicks in, your hands are sweating, and then you are there and it is glassy and wonderfully repetitive, repetitive, repetitive. Lights are flashing, cars are passing. There is synthesized wild life here—blips that are winged, crackles that are slithering through the digital grass. Echo ripples across a chrome topped body of water. You catch a glimpse of yourself in a store-that-sells-something window. “Beats are the staccato lines on the road being eaten by the undercarriage of the vehicle that whips through this world. Guitars are trash and debris; acid. A headphone record at its primal best, far out and geographically odd. Every time I play this someone asks, ‘what the hell is this?’ I say, ‘W-X, dig in. Best to listen to it in its entirety.’ A vast 20-course experience served on twin platters; a carnival; a far cry from White Fence and yet still the scent lingers on the fingers. He told me I would hate this repeatedly and I replied that it is my favorite masterpiece of his (of which there are many). This record looks through to the matrix of Tim’s songsmith genius, don’t forget to blink. “For fans of early Soft Machine, The Fall, The Tronics, general clutter, disarray and Faust.” —John Dwyer