The tracks are the result of the production of Matteo Stroppa together with Jacopo Barbaccia, and the collaboration of Matteo with Paul Kearney ,Ritchie Hinkson and Valo Lankinen.
A couple of friends and myself went to this dark and quite seedy bar last night. Beyond the rank stench of alcohol and vomit, the seemingly endless clouds of cigarette smoke and the location in the worst part of town, it's a rather fun place. They have a thing there for all kinds of freaks, nonconformists, gun nuts and other weirdos - in short, my kind of place. The owner/barman/DJ of the place has a thing for artists that killed themselves, or at least had horrible atrocities happen to them, usually alcoholic rockers and/or heroin addicts. You can imagine it was quite a surprise when he put on this psytrance album.
One of my friends that's a serious person when not on a whiskey binge of one sort or the other just couldn't help but be shocked at the odd noises and said enquired as to why he's playing this type of music. The DJ/owner/barman gave us some cheap ouzo, on the house, and started mumbling something about how elegant and smooth the beats of the music, grooves and the such. One of my friends abruptly cut him short by falling off of his chair and puking all over the floor and himself.
"Damn, that's some cheap alcohol" I mumbled to myself, but feeling somewhat relieved that the guy wasn't going to babble about the endless qualities of yet another human tragedy. Hearing people babble on the qualities of mediocre music is just a bit too much for me, so I enquired again as to how come he's playing music by this artist. He gave us another round of the acrid drink, and started doing what he does best - give a totally incoherent story that's at least partially made up that makes no sense unless you're quite drunk.
To sum his story up - a while ago, a hoard of mongooses horribly disfigured the quasi-famous psytrance stars, Loopus in Fabula, as they escaped their lab after the cocaine supply used for experiments ran out - and fueled by their horrible addiction, they jumped the helpless psytrance artists and started eating their face off, leaving not one smidget of nose by the time they were done, after which they took a flight to Los Angeles. Luckily, due to the fact that the experiments were performed near a hospital, their life was saved, and after countless hours of plastic surgeory, they managed to patch them up so they look more or less human. The resemblance to the famous comic-book villians Two-Face and The Joker sent Loopus into a psychotic rampage in which they killed 28 people by removing their livers using only their teeth, until they were finally stopped by Batman. Being the nice type of guy and always hoping to redeem spirits as psychotic as his, he took them to a private institute where he made this last album as a form of therapy. After listening to it killed them, understanding that their soul was beyond redemption now.
While telling us this tragic story, the barman/DJ/owner continued refilling our glaases with some even cheaper forms of hard alcohol, all on the house. By the time he finished his story, we were all very much drunk, and the album was all but over, and we were quite incoherent. We noticed how the whole place cleared except for us three, the owner/DJ/barman, and two other guys who seemed to be busy giving superlatives about how excellent this album is, how Son Kite's mastering really shines through, about how refreshing it is to hear an album like this revitalize the progressive psytrance spirit. My friends and I picked a fight with them and kicked their asses into a bloody pulp, trying to drown out the rest of the album with their
grunts and howls of pain.
Sadly, it didn't work. We couldn't help but notice that this was just another progressive album. Yeah, it's more "psychedelic" (meaning it has a few sounds that don't sound like they were intended only for people on five pills of MDMA), but damn it, we just couldn't get what his story was all about. Wiping the blood off our hands, we sat back at the bar, and asked the guy to put on some Janis and give us something stronger to drink. Seeing the mood we were in, he readily obliged us.