Ghostape ensnares an unsuspecting listener in a snug realm of smokey spectral exotica, like turning a flesh and bone body into rice-paper and setting it down on a bed of morning dew where it can melt into the blades of grass on a field in front of a strange formation rendered in black glass and medieval stone pillars, with the man and his hooded woodland followers spiralling around this ancient ground in an intoxicating dance and song – half hyphy made by Arcadian nymphs and half tribal jams made by all the smallest mammals. If the stars be properly aligned at the moment of midnite, apparitions appear to possess the creatures and a new rhythm is created in a jamboree of bones, glass shards, sticks hitting stretched skin and the hushed twinkling of harps made of pine cones.
http://www.myspace.com/iamghostape
source: http://www.20jazzfunkgreats.co.uk/wordpress/2009/05/27/glasslands
