Venetian Snares

    Huge Chrome Cylinder Box Unfolding


    Ominous chords ring out in misery while the explosions of an epic firefight decimate the foreground, strewing the scene with sundry particles and splattered debris and, oh god, so it finally came to this: The sky is raining shards of metallic ooze. No, it’s not the penultimate scene of doom envisioned by the latest mega-budget blockbuster flick. Aaron Funk is the one-man wrecking crew at the helm of Venetian Snares, and with his eleventh album in just more than four years, his maniacal pace even outmatches the most prolific Hollywood studios.


    This time Funk puts on anti-gravitational boots and goes clod hopping atop Jupiter’s moons, raining down blasts from his space-ray to decimate alien boulders, letting them exponentially collide, Asteroids-style. Ah, sweet, sweet break-core: How you decimate everything I hold dear — namely familiar drum sounds — and chew them in into a disgusting mess of slop, belching forth glitch-nuggets like so many regurgitated foodstuffs. Your beautiful cluttered nourishment is best digested for about fifteen minutes at a time, but somehow those fifteen minutes are just enough to sustain the residual headache and emotional crippling you always ensure.

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