The circle opens with hootings. The roarings of the winds from The Circle Opens” rage of their scarlet rustlings in a slow sonic tornado where the percussions are cawing like some big bullfrogs and where the synth lines let filter sibylline chants that the winds flog of fine wrinkles of electric smoke. The rhythm is ambient. It waddles like a delicate contemplative tribal trance under the rustles of arrhythmic percussions
Sylvain Lupari / gutsofdarkness.com & synthsequences.blogspot.ca –
The circle opens with hootings. The roarings of the winds from The Circle Opens” rage of their scarlet rustlings in a slow sonic tornado where the percussions are cawing like some big bullfrogs and where the synth lines let filter sibylline chants that the winds flog of fine wrinkles of electric smoke. The rhythm is ambient. It waddles like a delicate contemplative tribal trance under the rustles of arrhythmic percussions