He’s always kept himself at a distance, at the edge of sanitized shows. His crepuscular melodies, drawing on the foundations of a troglodyte and primal rock'n roll, could’ve never even seen the light of day - being anything but diurnal - had they not found refuge in what turned to be both a cave and an alchemist's furnace. In a recording studio - once the home of a passionate love story and, later, a harbor for a group of dangerous intellectuals fighting the society of the spectacle, the music of Nightshapers willfully chose to take shape. To do these underground songs any justice required an individual broken to the most delicate work. Thanks to him - his name, again, doesn’t matter - a brute force was channeled, of relentless vigor, without risking asphyxiation or implosion What remains is the result, unshakable: pieces that make no concessions to their era and come as a welcome reminder that what some refer to as "garage" rock is above all an exercise in authenticity, that cannot bear the least artifice. It’s all in your hands now: Nightshapers's music should be listened to with ears open wide and guts in unison. Electricity should be racing through your entire body, leaving you both speechless and flamboyant. Authentic rock has its advantages: its effects on you are durable, indestructible even, and the hunger it ignites is insatiable.