Takes a while to sink in- but you probably already know that.
Whirls around elements of Sonic Youth, Velvet Underground, Branca, Can and pieces of jagged debris from a melee of proto industrial bands to create a black jazzmic colossus. In other words, it does not sounds like anything else.
Sounds come and go, shifting across the speakers, drones, soothing female voices combining in layers of deadbeat patter. Michael wanly intones rather than screams, whilst the songs foundations are held down and riveted by the muscle of drums thrashing out a constant "shape," to hold the electric storm.
Delivered and wrapped in a world weary montone, focusing on various disembodied human emotional states - emitting the cry of a vast, forever stretching, silent empty universe, where meaninglessness is seen as a residing core value. In response, humans vainly build constructs to make sense of their distorted self-reflection.
The album in its two hour entirety can be seen as more than a positive reply.