Michael Ferentino/Bedtime for Robots' 24: Andromeda Vomit mounts an ambient landscape, a livelong-day, alien journey into darkness where weird lifeforms (and around-the-bend threats) creep.
I realize that Bedtime for Robots has touched upon this concept before (at least through my personal, listening vantage), but Andromeda Vomit is a thicker extension of the motif and works much as a short story would when inflated into a novel or feature-length film. Andromeda Vomit's particular themes, segues and audio seeds are extrapolated to full capacity, pushing insinuated terrors to levels previously unexplored.
The first four tracks develop an eerie, precursory thread. Through these segments, I envisioned a craft landing on a "heavenly" body somewhere in the NGC 224 Galaxy, followed by the reveal of a sprawling, craggy stretch, as an intrepid band treks under an ineffable sky. There's trepidation binding the voyeuristic intent. It's not yet an utter regurgitation of horror, but it's getting there.
Tracks 5-7 come closer to a sentinel cognition. The mechanized beeps and warbles discern a presence, perhaps a specimen torn from the palettes of Giger or Blaisdell, or maybe it's something more abstract, like Kubrick/Clark's looming monoliths, but cursed to the Galaxy of Terror core. To perpetuate the foreboding feel, Ferentino's notes prompt an uncanny balance of desire and dread. (Track #7, in particular, brings on a devouring chill, its entrancing vibration reminiscent of the creaking windmill from Once Upon a Time in the West.)
Tracks 8-10 enter full-blown tribulation. It doesn't matter what one's imagination conjures through this phase, for the sounds remain constant and admonitory. One has reached a point of no return: far from one's vessel and nearer the inevitable beast.
If one is attentive, one will hear the creature's wails, with other daunting entities chiming in, all designed for attack. The regurgitation now flows, sliding under one's soles, squeezing through one's gear. One has overstepped one's bounds, the results manifesting in ways that invoke Forbidden Planet, The Wizard of Mars, This Island Earth and that mind-anchoring staple, Solaris: cosmic voyages marked by varying, unrectifiable climaxes. The mission will be aborted, but within Ferentino's fateful au revoir, the palatable residue oozes on.
I re-listened to Adromeda Vomit while composing a speculative tale, one meant to stage hesitation and risk. Ferentino's composition did the mood-setting trick, and for that inspiration, I owe him my undying thanks. In my estimation, 24: Andromeda Vomit is one of Bedtime for Robots' best-spun ventures, and I do believe when you listen to it (no matter your visionary inclination), you'll believe so, too.
Probe the landscape at
https://mistlabel.bandcamp.com/album/24-andromeda-vomit?fbclid=IwY2xjawE923lleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHcjOFqiEBA48Pb_ZDe0q9c6h3iH94ss5AT71utxsm_YqQDcuziHxwTCUWg_aem_fVCcPrawz9fHxzDZXcD5ww
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