The art of downtempo, as seen from the wooly duo calling themselves Baby Mammoth. The moniker fits like a velvet glove--thick, soupy grooves saunter heavily forward, coated in a fetching musk of furry electronics, jazz-funk sound-bites, and some of the most alluring vibes alive. You're unsure? Just "Come Again" and again, riding down the Mersey, piping your '60s hippie flutes, marimbas doing the Bobby Hutch nasty, guitar licks body-poppin', strings shining and shoppin.'
As a Mammoth, you have to proceed cautiously. Despite your rhythmic bulk, you might fall into the "Venus Vibe Trap"--into silky synth webs that carry your prehistoric self into atmospheric extinction, cast adrift in a Moog-bath of bliss and bass. Press onward, though Blissenden and Burdall--the leaders of this sortie--have informed you of your fate, and it appears the inevitable is true. You vanish into "Thin Air" amidst the whistles of interplanetary sirens, coasting on the gusts of cosmic winds, body undulating in the drizzle of funk seeping out of the heavens. Forget history--this Mammoth's got a sonic half-life of a million years.