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Crude is the non-de-plume of Matthew Middleton, the solo, artfull and electronic arm of his musical empire.
Each spin of that Crude cd generates a little charge, a little quantum fizzle. Each spin casts off an alternate universe, a universe in which crude was actually U2, a universe where crude was propagandized as heavily as Michael Jackson, a universe where Barack Obama was a lazy-eyed dairy farmer from Twizel. Each pulse, each sliver of crude's sound lives and dreams and prays and ascends ever higher, a zionist lobby group of a noise, an apocalyptic, billowing, sanguine cloud of colloidal drums, boyish vocals, angry reed-spatter and a deranged orgy of synth.




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