He lets his voice soar into the stratos and down it comes as lead weights each finely spiked with pathos aiming to pierce the marrow bone with its emotional shivers. Dark, feverish fragments twist and turn as the sweat drips down the face and the body heat soars into a boiling froth. An intense white soul linked to a journey into darkness backed with drum machines, guitar and synth repeat white noises, these are the foundations upon which Gordon soars above. Not for dancing or running away into a surrogate euphoria this very firmly pushes the viewer inwards rather than into a clap happy realm.
Sounds akin to the Skinned version of the Swans where the excess flesh was cut away to reveal the internal organs. This would fit next to the Jarboe/Gira early experimentations as an introspective light dangling within an existential howl. It illuminates a loneliness from which the listener can enter and leave by the entrance knowing that the walk in between they are assailed by certain demons of unstated memories.