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Imagine if Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, Boards of Canada and Frank Zappa had babies, lots of them. Some babies were charming and chosen, others illegitimate and rotten. They were taken from the sappy rectangles and raised in a forgotten old barn. Some grew into gentlemen, some into crackheads, some into family, some into devices of defiant purpose. They became a ship, right there in the woods, and conjured an ocean into your facehole, politely requesting to populate you with their gorgeous, dechristianized ghost panic.