No sensible person can argue against the proposition that America is crying out for a cleansing ritual fire. The only grounds for disagreement that I can see concern which oppressive institutions should be fed to the flames first. As it happens, I’ve recently discovered a wonderful soundtrack for torching prisons of all kinds.
Frenzied, mutating cycles of hand drums and trap set tangle in a dense polyrhythmic weave beneath sinister smears and screams of brass, while synths buzz and pulse and a kick drum throbs like your heartbeat when you can feel it in your eyes. Everything is bathed in “skull cave echo,” as Saldanha puts it. “It comes with a love for trance, otherness, and sound pressure,” he explains.
