I returned to Richmond, Virginia (USA), my home of 10 years, after two years living abroad. Very jet-lagged and in a heinous state of reverse culture-shock, I was in a bad way. A dear friend set me in his vehicle and sped westward to the mountains of Charlottesville to "take in some good art and good sounds". The evening ended (and the night began) at a house party on what seemed to be the darker side of town (or so it appeared to my jaded eyes).Approaching the house on foot, it seemed alive, groaning, however comfortably. Not even within a block I could feel the music in my chest. It was heavy. It felt thick between my ears.We climbed the rickety staircase to the completely lightless second floor. Not an apartment. More like a studio space. Unkempt. Cozy. And it was packed with people. There was little movement among the listeners but for a cohesive sway. I felt my way toward the center of the sound. Eyes adjusted and I spied an empty space on a sofa in the corner, adjacent the band (whose faint outline was only visible from the 'on' light of the amps. I sank into the softness and was completely enveloped by the sound.I don't know how long I sat there in the dark, totally encompassed by monolithic symphony. It was the finest homecoming imaginable. I was lucky enough to catch them live two more times before leaving the country again. Listening to digital copy still brings me a bit of that immense comfort and warmth.Ostinato, of northern Virginia/DC area, has been described as "epic orchestral rock". I find that term damn fitting. Truly.This is the first track on their debut album.