Mt Fog is a subtle force of nature. Conceived by singer and multi-instrumentalist Carolyn B., the sonic inception has spread to now also to drummer Andy Sells and bassist Casey Rosebridge, comingling their essences and aptitudes in a kettle of slow, simmer consciousness, before splintering pot-bellied curve of their confinement and bursting outwards like a glacial flood of soft, reeling elation. This brimming spring of romantic divulgence has most recently taken the form of Ultraviolet Heart Machine, an eloquently assembled impartation of love as it leaks from the exhaust manifolds of the heart's chambers, trickling down the ribs and pooling in the dipping basin of this human cup, where it rocks and curdles until it escapes in petite gasps of affection and dyspeptic infatuation. Carolyn's presence at the forefront of this morphological sonic parturient gush is like that of a stunning and undomesticated dryad, dashing between overhanging shelves of foliage and shapeshifting in the shadows, gathering psychotropic fruit with gnarled paws and feasting on the pungently inky nectar to fuel the cries she slings at the mountain-tops- sonorous beams of revelation so earnest and winsome that cause the moon to wink tears of airy silver across the night sky. On the whole, there is a mossy quality to Mt Fog's music that causes it to feel like it's growing all over you while you're listening to it, like an oversized comforter that sneaks up around your shoulders and hugs you while you lean into the reverie of a moment of flowering reflection.