the band joins in the recording. The song builds until the final verse, when the tension is broken by loud distortion, followed by a lengthy outro. Pajo has said he is particularly proud of the song's one-note guitar solo, admitting that "at that point in my life, if someone asked me to do a solo, I would do the exact opposite of what a solo usually is. Instead of playing a bunch of notes, I would just play one, though I did some decorative stuff around it there. There’re some cool, weird things in that song". When McMahan's girlfriend accidentally found the song's lyrics on a piece of paper, she mistook them for a suicide note. The instrumental "For Dinner..." begins with a quiet section of "brooding chords throb[bing] with the occasional rumble of muted toms and bass drum", the song cycles through sections of building and releasing tension. Unlike other tracks on the album, the guitars employ standard tuning, and does not use effects pedals. The closing song, "Good Morning, Captain", has been described as a tribute to the Samuel Taylor Coleridge poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner but the band have denied this. The song, which Pajo says is his favorite from the album, is built from a two-chord guitar structure, described as a "spindly, tight riff", and a "jerky" drumbeat. During the recording of the final chorus, McMahan became physically sick due to the strain of yelling over the guitars. David Peschek of The Guardian compared "Good Morning, Captain" to Led Zeppelin for its epic scope, though not its bleak mood, writing: "the extraordinary [song] is [Slint's] "Stairway to Heaven", if it's possible to imagine Stairway to Heaven bleached of all bombast." Title and packaging The title originates from McMahan's younger brother, who thought the record sounded "spidery". Its black-and-white cover photograph, which depicts the members of the band treading water in the lake of an abandoned quarry at lake in Utica, Indiana, was taken by Will Oldham. An article in The Stranger credits the image as responsible for the later mystique surrounding the publicity-shy band, and notes how "[m]ost people only had seen Slint as four heads floating in a Kentucky quarry on Spiderlands cover. Listeners pondered the band's sparsely adorned black-and-white covers as if they were ruins bearing secrets." Chris Gaerig of the Michigan Daily wrote that the album cover "captures the joyous fear