There’s always something that starts the rush.  That most-Hollywood-of-all-things blast.  The scream before the army rushes down the hill.  The kiss before the fade and implication, or something more gratuitous.  The junky shots, the inner-needle shots, that cloud of blood before the hammer drop.  You know, the rush.  And maybe most cliché of all: the spotty little wind-ups and grabby little metaphors that start album reviews on every music blog ever.  You get it: the rush.  The call from something – short, not always sweet – and the response.  Fred Longberg-Holm and Paal Nilssen-Love, no secret, make a lot of music.  Some is in support of tighter compositions and stricter interplay (see Vox Arcana’s Caro’s Song). 

Some is more exploratory, more isolated, though without all the whispered platitudes of what many associate with introspection (see Nilssen-Love’s Cut and Bleed).  Almost…