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Would it surprise you to know that this tape was recorded in the middle of a Californian desert?
Because it really shouldn't. This multidimensional miscellany of psychedelia-infused rock 'n' roll brings forth mental images of a motor home baking from the relentless summer heat, the high-hanging sun reflecting of its metallic surface with an uncharacteristically brilliant luminescence. It's almost like... an oasis, a beacon, a bastion beckoning to be found in the midst of this godforsaken climate -- assuming your idea of an "oasis" involves a densely-compacted living space and a semi-functional air conditioning unit. I feel that Calfornia's Black Egg channels a similar sort of energy: something so intrinsically marred by its own self-imposed imperfections -- being conceived as a garagey, Killed-By-Death-styled solo project backed by a plunky drum machine -- that, due to the palpable sense of bleakness surrounding these acid-fried jams -- a feeling mostly conveyed by darkened tonal atmosphere, cacophonous vocal echoes, and hopeless lyrical tirades --, the project as a whole somehow exudes an unsuitably vibrant resplendence. It's a greasy, rhythm-oriented hoedown hosted in the farthest corners of a municipal sewer system, fueled by nothing but nihilistic prospects, anxious sweats, and pure hatred for the world lying above the surface. And... it's a fucking blast. Accented by space-y synth warblings and twangy guitar hooks, "Mind Control Losers" marches to the beat of its misanthropic brood with a devilish swagger, culminating in eight tracks of simplistic rock 'n' roll sleaziness that stomps just as hard as it swings. Throw in a couple ambient technological interludes, driven by distant whirling noisemakers and skull-piercing mechanical tones, and you've got a tape with an unmistakable identity that's worthy of your attention.