The pop hooks are there, along with the noise. Opposite sides of the same coin, black and white, day and night, bleeding and blending together. Songs about love, hate, madness, sex and the end of the world. The machine never misses a beat. There is a copious amount of minimalism; only the bare necessities are utilized, a line and some words. There is a symmetry that is struggling to be framed; burning to be feared. A droning sense of bleakness, a fuzzed out thunder regurgitated to a .wav file. Now these, these are the primal aesthetics.