Michael Ferentino's Bedtime for Robots never sleeps. Further proof lies in a new Dada Drumming/Bandcamp release that layers midnight-oil results upon an ever-altering, alien landscape.
In fact, Terror Firmament (per its unfurling, starry fright) is unabashed Alien. It's also It! the Terror from Beyond Space; Queen of Blood; Planet of the Vampires; Galaxy of Terror; The Creeping Unknown; The Incredible Melting Man; First Man Into Space; Inseminoid; and Creature all rolled into one.
"April 21st" starts the ominous mission: a launch date of deep, risky exploration. The track ticks like an astral timebomb, its engine pressing ever farther toward its destination, and as it treks, its circuits (its chords) confirm planetary life, but just because it breathes doesn't mean it should live.
"Spiderhugger" is its jazzy revelation, slipping a parasitic hum over and over, sucking the air from one's lungs, but just as one is about to unleash the proverbial death rattle, renewal arrives, but it's not what one hoped.
A slithering specimen burrows deep inside, granting a faux "Brevity of Levity", which rumbles and warbles, anticipating penultimate regurgitation, though not from the throat, but rather the chest.
Any such fate is ghastly enough, but "Radiation Smile" is even more nightmarish in its implied disintegration. In this case, Ferentino insinuates blistering flesh and crumbling bone, and as with "Spiderhugger", the titular smile gravitates toward jazz, but the resulting grin is coerced, the outcome wrought by incurable mutation.
Terror Firmament's title track follows, soft, subdued, and cerebral in its slap-happy creepiness. This electronic masterwork tells of reformation and liberation, but in the end, one still stands a monster, though maybe (if one can only believe) all the trendier for it.
"Lost Recording" and "Loop" document what's happened. Each squeaks like an old, VHS tape. Even though there's chaotic fuzz, their melodies--their ingrained truths--bleed through: adamant, catchy and by their final chords, flaunting an indomitable, exotic pain.
"Shit Company" and "Black Tongue Meatloaf" are pure, aftermath baroque. They emote hesitation, though tainted by a need to go on. They are the rotted scraps that one must devour, and though they are the only things left in the vast galaxy, they drive home a derisive, percussive persistence, where bad situations become beloved.
"Closed Earth" and "Final" define the emotional end: ironic in their labels and open-ended for their Major Tom despair. The former is more accepting than the latter (the first downtrodden but groovy and the second merciless and mean), but their indivisibility offers a lithe synchronicity: the punctuating nails in an interminable, cosmic coffin.
That coffin (with all its uncanny lures) is but a courageous tap away. Engage Terror Firmament and channel Ferentino's frightening metamorphosis today:
https://promo.theorchard.com/uYhIZPLKHVGt4VosqxZx?fbclid=IwAR3kicrhqHTfrCuRIWBieaxGHy84GV4bdMu7AN6Rmsp9vVoozs1i2oF_XD8
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