This nicely pressed one-sided LP with color screened b-side from Tent City documents a live set in Phoenix ?near the end of several months with no rain.? Directly titled ?Drought,? the record actually does lend itself to thoughts of crisped desert landscapes, dried river beds, parched suburban parking lots, and a collectively bummed out contingent of citizens. The dire emotional stabs made by the musical collective through the use of strained horns, ominously layered tape drone, and muffled vocal chanting build well over a very steady and purposeful rhythm section. Perhaps this is some twisted stoner rain dance, or maybe a heat strained hallucination brought on by desiccated city air and the overall bodily weakness that accompanies months of unrelenting heat. Perhaps these are some Arizona farm folk that are completely overwhelmed with concern for their failing crops. At any rate, the overall vibe seems brooding, dangerous, discontent, and dire. The soft menace that the collective wields is apparent and their choice of overall restraint makes this one all the more lethal.

?One hundred and thirty days,?? the group chants in unison as the air settles from a quite beautifully warped crescendo of horns, squalls, and other outright unmentionable sound stabs, their voices expressing their disgruntlement at the rain gods, or maybe at their parents for choosing to locate the family in a place like Phoenix. ?One hundred days of thirst.? The record closes with what sounds like a type-writer pegging away at some unknown manifesto, a strange end-point which gradually gives way to a seemingly psyched audience of witnesses. As the record closes I find myself asking more questions than I have answers (a sign of success in my book). With ?Drought? being my introduction to the group, I?m immediately intrigued by group?s sheer amount of collective restraint and control. ?Drought? succeeds as one huge tripped out set of sheer transportation that?s foreboding, uncomfortable, and all, but more so expertly drawn. I definitely am left wondering what these dudes sound like when the drought finally ends and the storm clouds begin to break. 7/10 -- Chris Bush (3 March, 2008)