Have you ever found yourself coming to as you’re galloping down the street from an unseen foe, the pads of your feet blistering hot, knuckles bone-raw and letting fly the syrup of life? Seldom Landslide’s debut tends to have that affect on you, like a Jekyll and Hyde potion that leaves you alone, clothes ripped and township pillaged.
First off the bat you’re hip deep in syncopated beats, velvet cellos echo the reverberations on the inside of your skull - and then you feel it, skin turning Hulk-green; Lycanthropy pushing out the incisors. At this point your brain temperature will be hitting 50ºC, about the heat at which normal skin starts to feel the burn and your fingers fly away on instinct.
And then the silence - oh, the silence.
Seldom knows when you’re in mid transformation, he senses your vulnerability in this transitional state - now he’s going to play with you, half Yeti that you are. A bullion bass pounds like a carrion gong, and a swarm of beats breeze in disguised as a plague of locusts, ready to eat your face and crawl into your ears - at this point you are up, running, swerving, full scale tunnel vision has been summoned, closing the avenues down to the final hum - the riverbank lane where you find yourself alone by the reflecting moon, fisherman helping you to your feet as their confused faces mutter something along the lines of “Clothes would be an idea” or “You look like my son.”
And goddamn if you don’t go back for more. Dance is dead, long live the New Dance. Go to your clubs, watch the ladies dance around handbags with packets of Marlboro Lights in their hands. At that point you’ll realise what you’ve left behind, burning away on the stereo at home as it awaits the return of its slave - You. You’ll never dance again, the way you danced with Seldom (to paraphrase Michael George).
Next time I’ll have tracker implanted, see exactly what happens - maybe a dictaphone as well. I get worried that during the black outs I’m adding to some huge Megalomaniac plan to destroy the Sun or something. Just think if we all listened to it at the same time - what marvels would crawl across the face of this Old Gonzo? I guess the enlightened will only ever meet in the dead of night, naked but for our eyes of wrath.