Chas Mtn's Hugs is a multidimensional hypervolume of various states of consciousness. What the hell, you may ask, is that. Exactly. It plays like a workshop of subconscious minds, where a strange scientist grabs a couple of talented young men, throws them into a room with some instruments, tells them to make sixteen songs, on their backs and with the lights out, and they can't come out until they're done. And so you get a gentle 21-second 4-note daydream called We're Evil, We're Jazz to open the album, followed immediately by the relentless acoustic strum of Deep Safety, which layers instruments into an urgent vocal climax, and then you're greeted with buzzing flies (or are they bees or mosquitos?) in the mystical Leveled Mez. Then you get Wheels of Space, which is...forget it, I'm not even going to try. And so the whole album goes. Put it on random, and it will retain its splendid incoherence. But there is a thread there. It's just an invisible one, just underneath the conscious mind.
The one recurring theme, ironically, is the buzzing or chirping of insects, a disturbing symbol of awareness.
Chas Mtn mp3s, from Hugs (out today):
Salad of Flies