Evil Masters is a ruin. Its a thousand years old. There are a few standing walls, a garden, a stairway. When it plays you through your tour, it’s not really holding your hand; instead, its making wise little suggestions about where to go, gently flowing you down hallways of peaceful discovery, blowing open doors to vast halls that have hosted fucked up feasts of ecstasy as well as endless ceremonies of mourning. It’s a swirl of tape sketches, solos, and hymns hailing from 6 different years and countless evil masters. All jams are destined and guaranteed to crumble together into the dark dirt of time. Open the door, and step in.