I suffered night terrors as a child. The room would begin to spin as I lay in bed. Wobbly noise filled my head as the rotation accelerated. Disoriented with fear, I sensed that I’d been transported to an unworldly realm of evil. My night terrors were supplanted by matter-of-fact horrors as I grew older. The most off-kilter segments of The Body’s new noise album The Crying Out of Things simulate what I heard with uncanny accuracy. I don’t enjoy the sounds; pleasure is hardly the point. Instead, The Crying Out of Things is a necessary replication of madness.
