One night, at some unrelated recording session, years ago already, handsome young Browning whips out his phone to show old Koop and even older Krug the instrumental recordings he's made over the pandemic, saying that now that they're finished, he doesn't know what to do with them. The music coming from the phone is dark and sparse, but also slick; tight enough to feel like some kind of twisted pop. The two old ghouls' mouths start to water and their eyes bulge. Krug rubs his greedy claws together and says, I might have an idea. At home, in his studio (lair), old Krug chops up one of young Browning's works, rearranges the parts to suit his own freakish needs, then squawks out an ill-conceived incantation overtop. He sends the whole mess to creaky ... mehr lesen