A lonely, isolated closet. Cables and wires. The pulse of a drum machine. “I’ve wanted to make heavy, loud music for a long time…” says John King. The artist, like many artists, adapting to a new way of doing things; forced by the shutdown to improvise alone. His frame hung over an electric guitar, his long hair casting shadows on the strings. DIIV on one shoulder. Chastity on the other. Kurt Vile is in there somewhere as well. “I didn’t have a concept…” he continues. “…just sort of a gut feeling”. It’s been a long, strange musical journey for King, taking him from Canton, Ohio to Mexico to the backwater town of Killbuck to a solitary bedroom closet where his newest project was born. “I just murmured weird sounds into the microphone for hours on loop”. He made an EP of music, one layer at a time, rocking out against the impeding chaos of a pandemic. “Dealing with the brink of desperation,” is how King puts it. The murmurs, the improvisation, the songs slowly took shape, while never sacrificing their looseness. Instead they move about, like sounds bottled in a lava lamp, fluid, wild and beautiful, straight from the bedroom closet. His own private Shame Chamber.