But the novelty of the two cassettes sitting unpretentiously next to our computer’s keyboard offset the Cthulu-level horror of the band’s name; the tapes, one in a case with a printed J-card and one just vulnerably sitting there, had a sort of sidekick-charm to them. I imagined them as anthropomorphized figures with gravely, high-pitched voices: “Here we are, buddy! Hey, tapes! Check it out!” And so on. And so I listened to Ocean, and no-one is more surprised than I to find myself telling you all that it is really something to hear.








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