Where did this come from? Really? Don't let the Pure-As-Wind-Driven-Snow packaging fool you. This record is dark magic. With every tap and press of a key, Ronnie Martin is selling his soul. Tasty hooks, mind-blowing counter-melodies and fugues, rhythms not to keep time but to drive our minds madder. This isn't lollipops and Atari games anymore, kids...this is beautiful aggression that doesn't smash, it charms, then flips your consciousness on its now moog-craving ass. Is that a melody? It softly winds amidst harmonic noise. Your head spins and you try to keep track of the sounds, but the lyrics float past you. What's he saying? What's it mean? Think of the boy who sings, think of history, think of where he sings and where his recordings' elbows rest. You'll figure it out eventually, though it's doubtful anyone will fully. What he says is brilliant and sad and angry and full of imagination based on a true story. Yes, you can dance to this one. But do you want to?


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