Humming synth drones are fed through an infernal gauntlet of feedback, reverb, distortion, ring modulation, FM and I'm not sure what else, in order to extract ominous, hollow, tormented-sounding machine wails whose tails extend asymptotically towards the bottom of an immeasurable abyss.
Somehow when one scream seems to rise up above the upper limit of the range of human hearing, it simultaneously gains new lower harmonics — or is it a new drone that has crept into the composition while our attention was focused elsewhere? Either way, this new sound will surely also get cooked to death, cremated, accelerated into howling, cursed plasma, sucked into an unholy singularity.
There is something deeply, metaphysically wrong with the wiring in w4ve f0rm's studio. Whoever performed the electrical installation used the Necronomicon as their manual. No normal equipment generates this kind of interference. That seething background noise is throbbing with malevolent intent.
Some of these sounds feel like they belong in a David Lynch movie. Is this the pain amplifier with which the Guild Navigators threaten the Galactic Emperor? Or are those evil spirits from the Black Lodge making their way through the wall socket? "Diane, I think I might have had too much coffee."