On an album with no guests, the tape deck is TOBACCO's one true collaborator—the Second Zombie Beatle there to eff up all his prettier inclinations. Like how the sticky coast and thump of "Dimensional Hum" keeps getting derailed by what sounds like a fritzy radio dial, and the stonery dub of "Fantasy Trash Wave" bends and snaps over its slippery breakbeats. "An album of linear songs is just boring at this point," says TOBACCO, and he makes extra good on his promise to innovate ever more crudely with Sweatbox Dynasty's closer.

At over six minutes, "Let's Get Worn Away" first plays like eleven more songs spliced together at unpredictable intervals—jock jams collide against rap bumps, synthesizer ether, and shadowy electro-pop. 

But on repeated listens, madness clearly becomes method, as our anti-hero lulls us into a state of intense, earned peace. This time when he stops, he's got closure, and we're the ones left with an undeniable urge to dig our hands back into that aural gunk once again.

Vinyl