Like a slug persistently stuck to the bottom of a half-pipe in the community park over which there has been much debate, Grey People has long been making tracks within proximity of the teenage forbidden zone from the detached, elemental perspective of a dark, moist creature. Cryogenically Frozen should we be? Schwarzenegger cries liquid nitrogen teardrops but allows you entree to the dance floor, filled with the icy carved physiques of electro snowmen. Coma Tunnel makes going flatline sound beautiful and sad. The fluorescent hum of the bulbs lighting the conical ceramic passage to oblivion provides a nostalgic pillow to press our face into. On the B side, the Tornhawk squad mess-up of Coma Tunnel begins with toddler-techno thuggery. Then guitar chews Grape Nuts cereal all loud in the ear of your high school principal. Then some screechy, finally soothing greeting from the angels that escort you to afterlife s beanbag chair.