Like an abandoned cassette deck left to bake in the sun, "Disc Rot" warps, wheezes, and mutates with glorious unpredictability. The long-running, occasionally appearing duo of Gonçalo F. Cardoso (Discrepant boss) and Alex Jones (Angela Valid), with sometime co-conspirator Phil Laney (a.k.a. Kenny Hosepipe), have never been ones for structure or coherence. And here, they push their brand of decomposed sound collage into even more absurdist terrain - where broken electronics hum with malevolent intent, voices from forgotten broadcasts reanimate, and synthscapes dissolve into queasy, unplaceable dread.

Compared to the duo’s previous longform sonic endurance tests ("Two Fucking Tapes", "Forked Piss Blues"), "Disc Rot" is almost... concise? Sort of. These are shorter transmissions from the void, but no less deranged. Take "Warm Night", a deceptive title for an opening track that feels like stumbling into a fever dream on the wrong frequency. Or "Byzantine Turd Skirt", which lurches forward with mechanical groans, as if an ancient machine is desperately trying to explain itself. The title track sounds like a corrupted hard drive coughing up its last secrets, while "Amateur Depravity" could be mistaken for a lost outtake from "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" soundtrack - if Leatherface ever dabbled in electro-acoustic horror.

Elsewhere, "Busy Hubby’s Flight to Gstaad" and "Tit Ale" (yes, "Tit Ale") flirt with the glitchy chaos of early 2000s noise, evoking Black Dice’s "Creature Comforts" or a particularly fried Wolf Eyes jam session. "Professional Babies" is pure tape-decayed paranoia, while "Driving Instructor from Johannesburg" sounds exactly like what you’d expect from a track with that title: disorienting, possibly sinister, and barely clinging to the notion of “music” as we know it.

But here’s the thing about "Disc Rot": beneath all the unhinged textures and absurdist track names, there’s a method to the madness. Cardoso and Jones have a way of making decay feel deliberate, of turning sound’s natural decomposition into a kind of surreal poetry. If music is an organism, then "Disc Rot" is what happens when it’s left to ferment, decompose, and take on a life of its own.

It’s unsettling, hilarious, and - if you let yourself sink into its murky depths - strangely beautiful. If you know, you know. And if you don’t… well, welcome to the rot.