Tarentel produces the kind of music that makes the average person question whether postmodern art has any merit whatsoever. The kind of music without words, without a set structure, without any direction whatsoever, it’s the kind of epic art-rock that swells and subsides like delta waves, deeply submerging you in it’s insular sonic womb against snares of guitar reverb and fragmented drum beats. They are able to construct an alien and ominous environment, but the instrumentation lacks the requisite cohesion to take the album any deeper than mere atmosphere.
Tarentel wants to make that next, great symphony to prog rock. But unlike the best releases from better-known art-rockers like Sigur R