siLLy puPPy PIKE 202 - 5 DAYS TIL HALLOWEEN: SCRAPBOOK is the 101st album released by BUCKETHEAD in 2015 and the 27th freaky spooky dark ambient release in the countdown to HALLOWEEN. Another all instrumental album with Mr Prolific creating all sounds heard. This one has 7 tracks all titled “Scrapbook Front” and they all run together to create one long musical mind trip. The album clocks in at 25 seconds over the 1/2 hour mark.

Starting off with an echoey drone that reverberates in a steel silo the lysergic journey through the vibrations of screwball sonicity takes us to places no musical listener has ever thought about going. Since the cover looks like microscopic bone marrow i can only think about hitching a ride on a white blood cell and feeling every twist and turn turned into sound.

As i meander throughout the bloodstreams of life, i encounter oxygen, iron, calcium. Elements are my friends while macrophages are my enemies. I listen, i hear as the sonic clues tell me that survival is my own option for i am too young to depart this microscopic world like Ant Man succumbing to the praying mantis of Mordor.

Ambient hues of sound echo and sustain. They embrace my every living component but make sense to none thereof. I cringe only to find it a complete waste of time for even smaller parasitic entities have begun to gnaw upon my genitals.

While the music is repetitive, more so than other BUCKETHEAD PIKES and lull me into a trance where i feel the sensation of aliens probing me with non-metal objects, i realize that there are only five days to HALLOWEEN and i’m already freaked out beyond belief.

Sirens and billowing blow horns imitate foghorns and synthetic sounds that reverberate once again into my world of disbelief. I only know that i cannot accept this as the masterpiece it feigns itself to be for it is far too foreign for my experiences to cast their shadow.

I am for i was and have been what i will want to have willing be. In a daze i realize that i render my inner visions to be sounds that smell bad as i touch thyself in a surreptitious bunion on a burrito with spatula glazes in a pasture of underwearing icebergs touching the sun as i you me it see touch feel much wheel is can but for so to un i u e …