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U Can Unlearn Guitar: Completion Anxiety

Album Description

Kompextion Angsinity
Completely different
Complete / Anxious
Released:February 27th, 2012
Length:01:24:27
Label:yelpco
Producer: Andrew Marshall Alper
Engineer: Andrew Marshall Alper

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andy alper on 02/28/2012 at 03:21AM

After a year of relative calm, UCUG returns with a tattered sketchbook, absconded with and presented here like a petulant schoolgirl would do after jumping the high schoolyard fence, her irratable roomie's diary tightly clasp within her trembling mittens.  


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If this contribution could be communicated in terms of a delux vinyl Ball-Joint-Doll it would probably be like that girl puppet from Tim Burton's "A Nightmare Before Chistmas," only with crinkly patchwork fetuses for hands and an umbrella comatose pelican circling above her head for lice.  It is with such remorseful aplomb that "Completion Anxiety" arrives on our shores.

This is a compendium of half-written half-automatic tunes, at the time of writing, suggests no single theme, with no solid doctrine holding sway save for UCUG's fascination with the razorthin precipace upon which music teaters, always managing barely to keep said form from plummeting headlong into the chasm of pure unlistenability.  

According to Unlearnerson Guitarbergenglatt, lead singer and stand-in-front-of-the-orchestra-with-his-white-stick guy for U Can Unlearn has indicated that these 8 songoid confabulations are only a mere fourth of the album's entirety, and that more material is to come in the nearish futuro, unfurling like reams of leiderhosen leather off the spool.  This being the case it is impossible to guage the full brunt of the jist of this Epoch until such time that the residual leathers are released and made available.

In fact, as I write this another song is being uploaded, anon, I do spy.  Insodoing/insoobserving et al. one may deduce that this here very reveiw must be hitherto abbandoned and taken up once again in time, post-posting of the balance of UCUG's most recent and current effort, aka the most apropriately entitled, "Completion Anxiety."

I would be eager at this time to have given it my ten glorious platinum stars of polyamorous self elation, but instead will suspend my critical acclaim and, with you all, wait to see, like a schoolgirl setting her pigeon-like sockfeet into moist cement galoshes before a full length mirror in a small utility closet just West of the dining hall, what develops.  

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