This is a bold statement, or is it anymore? The time stretched cicada slowly eats its young, regurgitates, breathes digital karmal cr?me and burrows deeper into the souls of empty stars. We hear it all happen in an hour stretch of a second, a skipping projector on the eyelid between the time of an erect conscious and the ensuing head wound fall to the carpet. Structural in its stretch of disc burn, microscopic in its persona and passion, lethargic in its commitment to statement or comment: this is post-ambient, no-age, crystal shattering mind-humping. But it pulls at the resources of my word bank and I say hooray for that! 7/10 -- Michael Kaufmann (16 June, 2005)