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PREUN: Plague Songs Of Yesteryear

by Unsong

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One brown tooth, in a jaw of ill-repute, Coughing words of little note. Repeat after me: Nothing I do is of any value, My head is a vehicle of whim and nonsense, Soon to be three black holes in an oven's heart, Turning hair to ash, burning off skin and margarine.
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VOI_KLA 04:44
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WOE 04:35
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APNEUSIS 07:08

about

A collection of very early tracks, rescued, revamped and re-appropriated to serve as a soundtrack to the confines of self (or imposed) isolation during the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020.

credits

released March 20, 2020

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all rights reserved

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about

unsong London, UK

Pseudo-faceless vibrational dream-self of author Mason Ball and disreputable Lynchian figment Benjamin Louche: a non-holy trinity of drone, tone and happenstance tintinnabulation, with added audio white elephant.

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