The self is a vertigo-inducing creation, inducing shame by instituting regimes of decency. This is “obscene,” even though this is a trax dedicated to finding and communicating the self. The initial problem of interpretation here is how to make sense of a confession that one embodies obscenity. The narrativization of such depravity activates the corruption with each and every telling. Not much help. But listen to the instruments, the other items of divination. At various moments, they are marginalized (panned right and left), only to be put in solitary confinement in the center. Or, as with the sustained guitar bends in the solo, they rely on the listener to make the connection between the partitions. (Don’t miss the dizziness as well, especially in the wobbly, chorus- and reverb-laden guitar figured in the verses.) The “beast . . . inside” doesn’t need to listen to this nonsense, but sociability demands un-beastly behavior. Backtrack and follow the bass: relentlessly descending, divorced from this self-introspection. We’re already low, setting the groove; no need to aspire to (the heavenly) heights. 

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