A.G. Cook’s album asks many questions without a care for the answers. The album is structured around seven themes, but these constraints seemed designed to allow for a focus on creativity. Chal Ravens
captures the this strangeness, explaining that:
Some of the best bits are more like volatile lab experiments to be handled with rubber gloves: “Waldhammer,” for instance, captures what happens when you pour a test tube of Beethoven into a bubbling vat of white noise, while the digital mirage of “Note Velocity” sounds like an encounter between Steve Reich and the impossible genre of black MIDI. A cover of Tommy James and the Shondells’ 1968 psych-pop single “Crimson and Clover” pits guitars against supersaws in a Weezer vs. Scooter deathmatch; no one survives.
What constitutes an ‘album’ is up for grabs in streaming culture. As James Rettig summarises:
7G is hard to take it all in at once. I forced myself to listen to it straight through the first time. Since then, I’ve been skipping around, throwing it on shuffle. A straightforward listen is definitely a little exhausting. Taking it disc by disc is probably a better approach. It’s easier to turn yourself over to whatever mood Cook is trying to create. I can’t imagine Cook much cares how you listen to 7G. Despite its initial impenetrability, 7G isn’t precious and it’s not particularly intimidating. Instead, it’s flippant and often very fun.
Place between Aphex Twin’s Drukqs and Severed Heads Illustrated Family Doctor soundtrack