The Grassy Knoll has specialized in sample-based funky rock. Here, extending the formula, NYC-based spoken word artist Becca Ayers is enlisted to provide readings and soundbites of variable coherence (well, they are resampled, after all) but generally very dark, as well as making the tunes better for having a vocal hook to hang on, even if it’s only a spoken one. Some of the lyrics are complete, others are snippets. The funk and dub grooves are damned impressive as well. Excellent stuff that I’ve enjoyed more each time I listened to it. Large portions of it remind me of that great late-period Golden Palominos album “Dead Inside” – introverted, bad-mood groove and shell-shocked, jaded vocals telling horrible tales. In fact, this here is damned near a tribute to that album I think, though The Grassy Knoll is ever so slightly more into melody than the Pals were at that point.

1. Not quite big beat but definitely big groove and big riff
2. Hipster poetry over fuzzed-out guitar
3. Bass vamp, 4 AM trumpet wail, chattery vox sample
4. Assertively nasty in sound and in lyrics; “pried our fucking eyes open”
5. Short, drug-driven monologue
6. Dubby, but tellingly, both a bit dull and lacking vocals – coincidence?
7. The ugliness of the title extends to the oh-so-familiar modern horror tale recited over a creepy loop
8. Mildly nasty guitar alternates with threatening lyrics over a groove
9. That flavor of visualizing spirituality that sees (or claims to see) god in every thing – sailboat, thighs, guitar; great ornery funk
10. Fuzz-bass kicks ass while Ayers recites words of spiritual nihilism; excellent
11. Smidgen more upbeat but cynically so – Ayers is just more gleeful in her delivery of negativity, the guitar solo is ironic wankery; a relatively buried “fuck”