NYOUKIS, DYLAN - The Acrylic Widow

"Nyoukis! The name trumps hot on the carved brass horn. Gongs crash shrill and slaves shriek aloud. You Sir! Expecting pure vocal gravy like on Carrion Hut or Hora? Madam, perhaps the holy minimal strings like that Golem grey Penderecki served us on Owl Tapes? No. Nein. Nyet. Not the fucking case pal.\r\nFour measured tracks. Two dedicated to the cats thats been making heads turn for a while now (Banana Seymour & that Dogfella exactly) but all washing up a new kind of psychedelic moss. Fresh thin tendrils, easy to snap, but determined to grow among loose grey matter late on into the next day, and the next and the next.\r\nDry coughs and outta-wack piano chords play into Boy Scout bike repairs, test the bell, spin the wheel! Hot air leaks from a perished rubber hose. With knuckles like hazelnuts, these sounds shine like delicately laid cobblestones, laid end-to-end without no fuss or haste, they are tram tracks. Late night thumps, boof, baff and a lousy Soft Machine organ solo talks