Much of that, you feel, is down to raunch—because both "Matters" and "Ashes" reeks of the funky, sweaty stuff. The former shuffles along with a distorted spoken vocal for accompaniment and an odd barking rhythm, like a twisted form of Brazilian cuíca. Then midway through, it veers off into freeform jazz, working the entire kit like Buddy Rich after an espresso, before rejoining the groove with even greater gusto.
But it's "Ashes" that will get the most attention. It's heavy with atmosphere, almost religiously so. As a deep-voiced lothario gives you the chat, another vocal is introduced, but in only the briefest of forms, stretched out to a low hum that could almost be mistaken for a Gregorian chant. Onto this is layered distant rim shots, crunching hi-hats and whipcrack toms, eventually reaching a climax (far more appropriate a phrase here than breakdown) of ghostly military snares before settling back into a toughened-up take on its original groove. It's achingly cool and ever so deeply sexual.