(L-R) Eleazer Tolentino (guitar and vocals), Ray McCoy (drums), and Josh McCormick (keys). Not pictured: spacemen dancing around a fire.

(L-R) Eleazer Tolentino (guitar and vocals), Ray McCoy (drums), and Josh McCormick (keys). Not pictured: spacemen dancing around a fire. TREVOR CRUMP

A chiseled, carnal bellowing was coming from the adjacent room of a subterranean Capitol Hill rehearsal space. The guitar, synths, and drums on the other side of the wall stirred a synth-punk cauldron of medicine-noise. I didn’t know who or what it was, but it swallowed me whole. Songs were systematically devoured by a polyphonic octave generator effect, the same way a swarm of ants eats a jungle. A voice sang, fervent and possessed. The drums played like they were carving a glyph on the ancient Mayan stone sarcophagus beneath the Temple of the Inscriptions pyramid in Palenque, Mexico. (It depicts Pakal sitting in a fucking spacecraft, yet it was carved in the year 685.)

I was powerless to do anything but listen, so I turned the lights off and lay on the floor until their rehearsal was over. Staring into the darkness, images of ancient spacemen danced around a fire in my head…

Trent Moorman—Stranger music columnist and Line Out blogger—has also written for Vice, Rolling Stone, Tape Op, Portland Mercury, The Jung Society Quarterly, and Thresholds Quarterly (School of Metaphysics)....