Double-vinyl pressing of John T. Gast’s Inna Babalon courtesy Italy’s Haunter Records. Originally released as a tape on his own 5 Gate Temple in early 2016, and subsequently made available digitally, its victory lap on non bio-degradable PVC is necessary and richly deserved. To say that you buy-on-sight with Gast is, at this stage, merely stating the bloody obvious. Inna Babylon is a little uneven – as befits its original low-key incarnation – but its flashes of genius are just that, genius (inspiration not calculation), and it's looser and more playful than Excerpts or the dark, dense, isolationist Invocations II. For the numbed ambience and muted horns of ‘Our Secluded Preferences' alone you'd be justified in parting with your twenner, but obviously there's more. Militant stepper 'Jah Guidance' is one of your man's tuffest, tautest productions and an obvious precursor to the elbows-out dancehall melodrama of ‘wydgn’ on Blackest, all rolling badman snares and swooning gothic pads: bashment re-tooled for the medieval war-ceremonial. There’s a touch of Blue Jam surrealism in the monstrously pitched-down vocal skits, while elsewhere the celtic-street-beats thought experiment that has animated so much of Gast's output (and flexed fullest on that Young Druid CD), manifests here in the crude pagan-folk riddim of ‘Bonus Bongo Harp’ (does what it says on tin), nervy drum-machine/sax pile-up 'Surman' (a nod to everyone's favourite Cornish mystic reedsman?) and - of course - the perfectly blue and bleary trip-hop (ja, trip-hop) of ‘Celtfunk’. Mad, original, inimitable - and, yes, indispensable.