Seven years since their last transmission, the brothers BoC yield the darkly infected crop of 'Tomorrow's Harvest'. They've seemingly burned for fuel the guitars used to icky effect on 'The Campfire Headphase' and bunkered down to watch John Carpenter movies and 'Threads' on repeat, now returning to the sublime dystopia of 'Music Has The Right To Children' but filtered with a sort of entropic nuclear soul depletion. If we take the artwork and promotional cock-teases literally, they're now stationed in the deserted dust belt of a near lifeless metropolis, decoding ciphers from shortwave radio and anticipating the slow global demise, perhaps imagining a soundtrack to be played after the singularity; a human beacon beamed to lone survivors. So you've probably heard at least a few of the album's 17 tracks by now - the dawning drones of 'Reach for the Dead' and its stranded end title sequence 'Semena Mertvykh' from the trailer bookend the experience - but unlike most trailers, they haven't given away all the best bits. Those moments start at the opening logo of 'Gemini' and, in classic BoC style, occur in those poignant, brief vignettes that knit the thing together, from the para-dimensional layering of 'Transmission Ferox' to the heart-in-mouth beauty of 'Uritual' and 'Sundown', each opening a tiny window to other places in a way that some of the more epic, beat-driven pieces possibly fail to deliver. But, if you're a fiend for their bit-crushed percussion, then the sprung step of 'Split Your Infinities' and the toiling, bittered snares and lonely bothy comforts of 'Jacquard Causeway' or the deforested atmosphere and slithering drum patterns 'Cold Earth' are exactly what you've waited for all these years. Of course, like everyone else, we've only lived with 'Tomorrow's Harvest' for a short while, but also, like everyone else, our dark interpreter can clearly detect that it's not transmitting a positive message.
