Scissor People

There's a feral, coiled energy here that the previous track's reverie completely withholds. The guitars enter in a tangle of fuzz and feedback that never fully resolves, suggesting chaos barely held together by repetition rather than structure. The drumming is loose-limbed but insistent, like someone knocking rhythmically on a door that won't open. Vocally, the delivery sits in a deliberately flat, slightly detached register — not emotionally cold, but strange, as if the narrator is observing something disturbing from just enough distance to describe it. The title conjures imagery of fragmentation and severance, and the music embodies that: hooks that almost coalesce and then splinter sideways before you can grab them. This is the more disorienting, wrong-footed side of the Hair collaboration, drawing on Tim Presley's White Fence instinct for the psychedelic uncanny rather than Segall's melodic directness. It works best heard loud, in a space where the edges of the room feel slightly unstable.