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Reviews for [RL114]
Katrina Stonehart and The Spookfish "Katrina Stonehart and The Spookfish"




  • Tiny Mixtapes
    Like cracked enamel or a wall lined with paint blisters, this collaborative EP produced by Brooklynite drone-slingers Katrina Stonehart and The Spookfish is a construction riddled with lovely decay. Each artist in question has scraped out their complete discographies on a bed of overlapping newspapers, the combined spillage of velvety fuzz-pop forming a clumped mass of pumpkin innards that stains yesterday’s Major League box scores. The pair fill droppers with acid, dot their vegetable canvas with enzyme pellets, and leave the innards out to rot. Humming synths eat into cassette-recorded tissue like circling fruit flies, cassette spools warping beneath breached flesh as Stonehart and Spookfish paint these tragic contortions with impasto acrylics. Hanging on an apartment wall, framed in tarnished metal, their combined efforts sustain decay for as long as the product lasts.



  • Lost In A Sea of Sound
    Submersed in the depths of the ocean, the underwater crust breathes out the energy from the mantle. The turbulence controlled by the dense pressure at the ocean floor. Enormous amounts of heat droning out to the even greater volume of water. This is similar to the delicate balance between Katrina Stonehart and The Spookfish. One rhythm or series of sounds exploring the medium of the other. There seems to be no definitive point, only a listener in complete submersion in the world of two artists. This cassette drones and mutates for just under forty five minutes. Drew Gibson is the creative force of Katrina Stonehart. Dan Goldberg is The Spookfish. This is a composition maintaining a magical consistency over both sides. Playing like one long piece divided by the flip of the cassette. The thick ambient swell of sound carries a bubbling organic component. An electronic field hums and echoes out, like muffled speech transmitted across giant parsecs of space. The listening headroom remains saturated, the consciousness left to contemplate. These sounds push towards the spectrum of imaginable dread, but never reach this lonely plateau. Instead only redlining in a fiery underwater orchestra of impressiveness. A massive forging of sonic complexity, with sparks radiating out from each hammering.