Somewhere in 2013, still in the hangover of a period of greater exposure of noise through names like Wolf Eyes, Dalek, Ron Morelli, Growing or Black Dice, Incinerator positioned itself as a rare warning in a scenario already in wonderful boiling. Luwayne Glass projected in Dreamcrusher an unfolded reality, whose celebratory vein adjacent to the rave was surrounded in thick brushstrokes of electrifying interference. A non-binary artist with a punk past and a genius machinist on duty, he added a necessary – and perhaps even inevitable – identity to this shifting piece of time. Despite the industrial grandeur of Incinerator, the album surprises by allowing itself to be constantly enjoyed. In a way, it would soon reveal a number of much more current people whose vision is so well guided by similar means.
With an extensive creative body, mostly recorded on magnetic tape, Dreamcrusher arrived in the catalog of Hausu Mountain’s neon-pop bizarreness with an iconoclastic lozenge called Suicide Deluxe. Color-saturated quasi-songs that hardly foreshadowed the next arrival of the Another Country mixtape. There, Glass would bring with him a cryptic symbolism, between dragged beats, guitars and vocalizations cut in this brilliant document of only a hundred physical copies. Sweet and simultaneously acidic, his productions confuse the freedom of the dream with the fear of the nightmare. A nonconformist surrealist whose enduring inquiry into the unusual makes him a peerless figure. The world may be on fire, but let there be room for one last dance.
In more recent years, Dreamcrusher has appeared in two documentaries, one of them produced by the PBS channel, and signed an absolute banger alongside Backxwash (at the invitation of Adult Swim). Rare opportunity to witness a little legend of the meanderings that really matter. NA