WHO - WHO & the Whooligans (EP)
What an enigma WHO is, who is WHO, you might ask, who knows, but if anybody does, he’d know best, so let him tell it on “WHO & The Whooligan. Things are about to get frostbitten with the warpingly daunting synths that are eventually essentially amalgamated into the finest of synchronizations that have ever made their way deep through mortal ear canals. It’s dejectedly spirituous & atrabilious opener to the record, forceful as it rips the foundation to ruins with its thunderous roars that come soon after the calm & were all left to watch in awe as the heavens fall. The debris is plummeting down from a castle that was once in the clouds along with angels soon to be bones in a charnel house & we’re only pushed further out of our skull as we move flash forward.
He’d much rather grieve in isolation; he’s going through plenty of turmoil after surviving these disasters brought on by outside forces far out of his control. He just can’t bring himself to fuck with nobody after their colors finally became visible to him. Therefore, they can’t bring themselves to do the same, not like they were ever truly being genuine, to begin with so, no love is lost. Still, the connection is none; he’s reclusive now, in an intermediate state, slowly going into “LIMBO,” maladaptive daydreaming if I do say so myself, he’s drowning in emotion, conjuring up any modicum of strength. Still, it’s never enough, so it has now drastically resorted to open-heart surgery on the brokenhearted & no amount of stitches can sow what has been reaped.
The gales of the whirlwind have him spiraling, calling on Swanny Ivy to follow him into the “After Life” cause he feels as if his time has come. He’s at the end of his rope yet still trying to fit it through the eye of the needle being pushed. Still, this pull keeps tugging at him, bringing him back down into the abyss on “SMD” when he’s going manic. He just doesn’t care anymore; you can blow him; he’s too off the zip to pay it any mind. The hellishly metal overtones that soon portend over the beat only further heighten the anxieties he’s conjuring up then again. We get pushed back up; he just keeps going, facing his demons head-on. It’s taking all he has, seemingly ripping his every ligament but managing to still go out on a limb to protect himself. It’s a head trip to listen to but an out-of-body experience that should baptize any sins that may be weathering away at you like shale.