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Live drum and analog synth duo Bolabit mine a snow globe of nostalgia and regret, a pastel-hued Michael Mann flick from the middle part of his canon, maybe a movie about drug smuggling on some west coast port or something of the sort. The sand parts beneath your slowly falling body in a slo-mo replay while puffs of passing bullets strike the beach all around you, your body twisting in a futile effort to avoid the dull, hard projectiles that angrily pass through this vessel you’ve foolishly endangered merely for greed and foolish avarice, a vessel now perforated and leaking, becoming soft and distant as the surf around the waterline reddens and grows. The swells tug you into the shallows and the beach is silent as you slip under and away – it wasn’t supposed to end like this but your scene is over. — American Damage

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