the visitors by nick mott

I'm not entirely sure whether The Visitors are us, the people who put us here, or our future selves. But the music they make is a ritual feast of rain soaked crackling sci-fi environments, orchestrated tap-dancing pools of tape hiss, destroyed electronic soliloquies, precariously stacked slices of malfunctioning melody, rusting springs of elastic horror synths, duets between time stretched fluttering bells and ancient machines, subliminal and writhing bass contortions, collaged violin orchestras, blown out percussion and buried drums, dusty piano splicings, choirs of angels and demons, and creaking vertical conversations between brass and breath......

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