"Somewhere in the elastic universe of speculative ontology a troupe of well-mannered Euros saw the June 1st, 1974 concert in London, took this sole germ back to the serene Swiss Alps (birthplace of LSD) and fecundated it with honesty - like some lifelong lysergic therapy session - until they emerged saturated with colors no one knows the name of, dripping of colors that sound like motions known solely to them. And now they've invited the rest of the world to hear. Upon first listen I was reminded of how exciting those Jeffrey Novak solo albums were - delicate pop music accessible to us, uh... malcontents. Providing the mids between Eno's highs and Ayers' lows, it's a stunning display of both art and artisanship, and like a kid who aces his test without studying, it seamlessly incorporates the crisp aural aesthetic of Chrome and layered nonchalance of Velvet Underground without stepping into the gated communities of those bands' wannabees. Echoes of Morton, Cale, Barrett... a madcap laughing, white heat from warm jets in the eyeball of hell... And yet, it sounds only like Leopardo. Make sure you listen to it seven times in a row like I did."