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Growing

Though there are still only two axe-wielding gents at the helm, Growing masks its drone rock on Color Wheel as if a stage-filling band is mulling around for at least six minutes at a time, peaking in spotty, shimmering crests of amp buzz ("Blue Angels") and chunks of thick call-and-answer distortion ("Peace Offering"). The closing single-note moments of the former suggest that Growing's practice space is littered with King Crimson tablature and the blueprints of a mildly offensive pyrotechnics display. Instead of an hour of merely thin, E-bowed solos, Color Wheel's wordless pieces point to great, oft-listed ambient works and not so much to the multisection self-indulgence of prog that closed the doors on psyche rock. If occasional metallic bursts don't mark a looming sonic threat forthcoming in Growing's future catalogue, the blistering bolts of heavy fuzz that follow the early noodling on "Green Pastures" should definitely shake up some preconceptions.


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