VTB have crafted a strange geometry in their musique concrete between celestial duck honks and what sounds like a flood in the living room, there are more than a few occasions of heads cocked at the speaker in mundus caninus. Of course, this bodes well for humans, too. Augmented by all the dog friendly moments is a double album of sprawling musical invention. Record one births gently into a lo-fi-adelic Comus-like saline that even might even win over the Devendra crowd, if the Devendra crowd had ingested just a little too much mushroom tea on that day and left their ironic trucker hats at the door. Song becomes fever dream and then pitches into a barren place of low estate and low chanting whose Residents might well be Eskimos. With typical minimalist pageantry, VTB mutate from piece to piece, punctuating along the way with surprise sounds that the aforementioned dogs love so well; the kinds of quirks that make Nurse With Wound and P16.D4 records such fun listens. VTB spin some very melodious tales, which are subliminally hooky, after a fashion. Spiritual and surreal are sisters. Quiet ritualism queues with dadaistic and with progressive harmonies, together on the same fractured, out world, sing-along journey. And that's just record one.
Record two crawls slowly from the echoey ooze, grows legs and then presents as a different and, in many ways, more dramatic creature. A long, shifting organ drone becomes a deeply psychedelic statement that bleats loud and strong like an acid bleached Spiral Insana or a sneaky This Heat.