Though I'm sure they'd be annoyed to hear me say it, Chromatics always felt like the closest I'd ever get to the amphetamine genius of the Fall's infancy. Like the Fall, they sounded like nothing at all--not in the sense that they were without parallels, but insomuch as their sound was that of an absence--a propellant, ominous nothing that relied more on what it lacked than what it held. A word like "minimalist" seems fitting in form, but it hardly does justice to their powerful, ghostly gestalt--like Mark E. Smith's bitter nothings--those impossible gaps that held such compelling respiration. by Zac Pennington