New York Music Daily

Global Music With a New York Edge

Category: stoner music

Dervisi Recreate a Shadowy World of Gangsters, Underground Revolutionaries and Hash Smoke

As guitarist Steve Antonakos puts it, Dervisi – his rembetiko guitar duo with fellow six-stringer George Sempepos – plays “gangster blues.” The two put a psychedelic spin on the haunting, Middle Eastern-flavored sound borne on waves of displacement when hundreds of thousands of refugees, most of them of Greek heritage, returned to their ancestral land from Cyprus and Turkey in the wake of brutality and repression in the years right before World War I. Aliens from a Middle Eastern culture suddenly thrown into a Mediterranean one, many of these people became part of the underground resistance to tyranny on their new turf. Their music is plaintive, full of cruel ironies and soul and colorful stories, in the same vein as American blues.

For the last couple of years, Dervisi have held down a couple of regular monthly residencies in Brooklyn and Queens. Sempepos is one of the real mavens of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern psychedelia, dating from his days leading Annabouboula, one of the few Greek psych bands to reach an audience beyond the Aegean. These days, he also leads even harder-rocking surf band the Byzantones. Antonakos also has a background in Greek psychedelia, notably with Magges, and is a ubiquitous presence in the New York Americana scene. He’s one of the most interesting and instantly recognizable lead guitar virtuosos around, but in this band he plays mainly rhythm. It was fun to catch their Greenpoint residency at Troost earlier this month; on June 16, they return to their regular Queens haunt, the intimate Espresso 77 at 35-57 77th St. in Jackson Heights; take the 7 train to 74th St./Broadway..

In Dervisi’s music, you can hear where Dick Dale got his inspiration. This time out Sempepos had not only his his guitar but also a saz lute, which he hit pretty hard for all manner of plinks and clanks: it has a very distinctive, spiky sound, well-suited to the music’s serpentine, slinky grooves. Singing in Greek in his signature, sonorous baritone, he and Antonakos were joined by ex-Annabouboula clarinetist George Stathos, who added uneasily quavery melismatics and tightly wound spirals as the stringed instruments fluttered and sputtered behind him. One by one, Sempepos explained the songs for those in the crowd (probably everybody) who didn’t speak Greek. A defiantly catchy, steadily pulsing anthem celebrated the joys of smoking hash with fellow stoners. A jailhouse scenario, a bunch of bad guys conspiring what they were going to do when they got out, was more low-key.

The most memorable tune of the night might have been a stalking number told from the point of view of Death, who goes out looking for the party just like everybody else. The duo also took a couple of the classics that the Byzantones play and brought them full circle, back to their smoky, rustic, broodingly modal roots. Late in the set, they surprised everybody with a jaunty Bollywood freak-folk theme. This music may seem esoteric, and one level it is, but so is cumbia, and look at how that went global. Maybe rembetiko is next: if Antonakos and Sempepos get their way, someday it will be.

Balkan Psychedelic Band Choban Elektrik Sets Park Slope on Fire: Bed-Stuy is Next

More about that killer original Balkan music twinbill at Friends & Lovers in Bed-Stuy on June 15 at 8 PM, with psychedelic Balkan organ band Choban Elektrik and the elaborate, artful, mighty Serbian-style Raya Brass Band. It’s not clear who’s playing first, but it doesn’t really matter: both put on a wild live show.

Choban Elektrik were part of another ferocious doublebill at the end of April at Barbes, opening for rembetiko metal band Greek Judas. The quartet – Jordan Shapiro on organ, Jesse Kotansky on violin, Dave Johnson on bass and Phil Kester on drums – opened with a familiar Madeconian folk song, switching from major to minor, violin in tandem with the organ through some labyrinthine tempo shifts, Shapiro adjusting his textures from swirly roto to smoky hot. He left the smoke on through the similarly knotty, leaping and bounding, ebullient instrumental after that, bass bubbling, drums tumbling and careening as the organ spiraled upward. It’s tempting to say that their performance was sort of the Balkan equivalent of Emerson, Lake and Palmer doing Moussorgsky, but the keyboard timbres and enigmatic cascades were probably closer to the Doors – with a violinist from ELO, maybe.

Shapiro sang the next song, a rousing tune that for some reason sounded like amped-up Jamaican rocksteady with a more complicated groove and a hypnotically vamping, glimmering, upper-register Ray Manzarek-style organ solo. Appropriately, Shapiro switched to an echoey Riders on the Storm electric piano patch for the next number as the rhythm section delivered a sliced-and-diced gallop. A gritty, insistent, distorto organ crescendo gave way to uneasily sailing violin that surged forward toward shivery In the Hall of the Mountain King menace. A molten-metal, altered organ cha-cha practically segued into an organ arrangement of a punchy, pouncing Macedonian brass tune, then a number that sounded like a Balkan take on Rare Earth: surreal to the extreme. It’s almost funny to consider that such as tuneful band as this could be a spinoff of Zappa cover act Project/Object.

Greek Judas headlined. They haven’t changed their set much since they first started, but they haven’t really needed to since their songs are so creepy, and colorful, and the band jams the hell out of them. As is their custom, bandleader Wade Ripka alternated between distorted lapsteel and Strat, running each through a big Fender amp – inarguably the loudest band ever to play Barbes. Bassist Nick Cudahy and drummer Chris Stromquist wore deer and moose masks, respectively, if memory serves right (it was late; Kate kept bringing beers and that was impossible to resist). Guitarist Adam Good did not. Frontman/horn player Quince Marcum was decked out in a Byzantine gothic monk’s outfit: with his bushy beard, he really looked the part. With one long, searing, Middle Eastern-flavored jam after another and Marcum doing his usual bit explaining the Greek lyrics in detail, they kept the drinkers in the house through tales of lost love, drug smuggling, henpecked husbands and crack whores on the Athens streets in the late 1920s. Greek Judas bring their trippy attack to Leftfield this Saturday night, June 11 at 10 PM, where they threaten to be the loudest act ever to play there as well.

Slow Season Bring Their Wickedly Psychedelic Stoner Metal to Bushwick on the Fifth

Listening to Slow Season‘s deliciously psychedelic 2012 debut – newly remastered for vinyl just this year and streaming at Bandcamp – it’s fun to see how the band has evolved. Even back then, they were heavy – that’s the title of the first song they ever recorded. It’s a boogie, and it’s pretty simple, just a one-chord verse and then a chorus that’s closer to, say, the dark garage rock of the Black Angels than the bludgeoning stoner metal they’re mining these days. But they wind up the song in a flurry of jazz chords. An omen, or just the way it came out? They’re headlining a killer bill at the Acheron on June 5 at around 11; fellow stoners Sun Voyager, who go in a more garagey, early 70s Stooges/Sonics Rendezvous Band direction, hit at around 10. Cover is an absurdly cheap $7.

As for the rest of the record –  a new one is due out this year – it’s a trip. DayGlo Sunrise builds to a snarling interweave of multitracked David Kent wah guitar leads over frontman Daniel Rice’s simple minor-key blues riff. There’s – gasp – acoustic guitar and organ on the dynamically rich, surprisingly Beatlesque Evil Words. Drummer Cody Tarbell – one of the most consistently interesting players in all of rock – anchors the slinky, jangling guitars of Deep Forest with a distant, stygian rumble, and then swings the hell out of it when the band turns it into a boogie.

With its lattice of mandolins and between-Scylla-and-Charybdis metaphors, Ruah looks back to acoustic Zep, while the riff-rocking Coco a Gogo has to be the most unlikely place you’d ever expect to hear an expert Brian Setzer-style rockabilly solo. Bassist Hayden Doyel plays with a gritty, vintage 60s tone beneath the deep, bluesy jangle and clang of No Bridge Rag, which has the feel of what Jimmy Page was doing in the Yardbirds’ final incarnation. The last track is the bone-bleached fuzztone-and-wah epic Bars & Bars.“The flames keep calling,” Rice intones a couple of times at the very end – ain’t that the truth. Come out to the ‘Shweck on the fifth to see how much heavier the band has grown since then.

Texas Art-Rock Jamband and Neil Young Collaborators Lukas Nelson & Promise of the Real in Williamsburg Tonight

If the idea of blowing off work or school today to wait for hours in the suddenly scorching sun for this evening’s free MOMA Summergarden event – where the new Neil Young album is being premiered over the PA at 6 out behind the museum – doesn’t appeal to you, there’s a relatively inexpensive alternative tonight at Brooklyn Bowl where Lukas Nelson & Promise of the Real, who back Young on the record, are playing their own stuff at around 9. Cover is a reasonable $15. That a band that packs stadiums coast to coast hasn’t sold out this comparatively smaller venue testifies to something really troubling as far as live music in New York is concerned.

The group’s latest album Something Real is streaming at Spotify. The opening track, Surprise, is exactly that, kicking off with a wry Pink Floyd quote and then hitting a bluesy metal sway over an altered version of the hook from Sabbath’s Paranoid .Then they make a doublespeed Blue Oyster Cult boogie of sorts out of it. The title track is a straight-up boogie: “I got tired of trying to please everybody…you’re just a name in a picture frame,” the bandleader rails, then bassist Corey McCormick, percussionist Tato Melgar and drummer Anthony LoGerfo take it down for a searing, blues-infused solo. These guys don’t coast on their bloodlines: Lukas and Micah Nelson play like they really listened to their dad…at his loudest.

Set Me Down on a Cloud has a pretty straight-up, growling Neil-style country-rock sway. Don’t Want to Fly has a similar groove, a dark stoner blues gem that David Gilmour would probably love to have written. Ugly Color is an unlikely successful, epic mashup of Santana slink, Another Brick in the Wall art-pop and BoDeans highway rock. Speaking of the BoDeans, the ballad Georgia is a tensely low-key ringer for something from that band circa 1995.

This brother outfit goes back to boogie blues with the strutting I’ll Make Love to You Any Ol’ Time. Then they blast through Everything Is Fake in a swirling hailstorm of tremolo-picking. The album winds up with an amped-up cover of Scott McKenzie’s famous 1967 janglepop hit San Francisco, Neil Young cameo included. It’s sad how so few children of noteworthy rock musicians have lived up to their parents’ greatness – on the other hand, it’s heartwarming to see these guys join the ranks of Amy Allison (daughter of Mose), the Wallflowers’ Jakob Dylan and Sean Lennon. And these guys rock a lot harder than all of them.

Desert Flower’s Menacing Heavy Psychedelic Debut: One of 2016’s Best Albums

Desert Flower are one of the half-dozen best bands in New York right now. The heavy psychedelic quintet spice their wickedly tight, menacingly careening, darkly individualistic sound with punk, stoner blues, 70s boogie and echoes of gothic rock. They’re also notable for being one of the few psychedelic bands out there fronted by a woman, powerful bluesy wailer/keyboardist Bela Zap Art. What Jefferson Airplane were to San Francisco, 1967 or what Siouxsie & the Banshees were to London, 1985, Desert Flower are to New York in 2016. Their debut ep – streaming at Soundcloud – instantly vaults them into contention for putting out the best album of the year. Right now they’re back in the studio – watch this space for future NYC dates.

Much as Zap Art has Ann Wilson power and intensity, the studio setting here gives her a chance to project far more subtlety than she typically gets a chance to do out in front of the marauding twin-guitar attack of Migue Mendez and Paola Luna. Likewise, bassist Seba Fernandez and drummer Alfio Casale get to show off dynamics that sometimes don’t make it into their high-voltage live show.

The first track, Darketa opens with a wash of guitar sitar before Fernandez’s slinky bassline kicks in and the band sways along, Mendez’s lysergic echoes ringing out against Luna’s gritty attack, Zap Art rising from a wounded, guarded intensity, to trippy lows that she runs through a phaser. As the song builds toward a pulsing peak and Fernandez’s catchy bass hook pans the speakers behind Mendez’s searing lead, it suddenly becomes clear that it’s just a one-chord jam!

Longest Way is a brisk mashup of downstroke postpunk and classic Motor City rock: “Let me take you to the secret place, where nobody can see your face,” Zap Art intones enigmatically. The majestic, haunting Sube sways along over an uneasily pouncing 6/8 groove, an orchestra of guitars channeling ornate Nektar-ish art-rock and MBV dreampop, “Going down on the grey skies,” Zap Art belts ominously.

Tango follows a creepily pulsing southwestern gothic trajectory, fueled by Mendez’s slide guitar and Luna’s lingering, brooding lines. The catchiest of the originals here, Warrior stomps along over an incisive, sarcastically faux-martial groove, with tongue-in-cheek trombone and some tasty, purist blues playing from Mendez.

The centerpiece of the record is Traveler, a towering 6/8 anthem by a friend in Buenos Aires. Zap Art plays macabre washes of sound on her organ as Mendez alternates between fat, vibrato-laden lines and a menacing growl, Luna anchoring it with her murky, watery broken chords. Look for this on the best albums of the year page in December if we make it that far.

Sandaraa Build a Magical Bridge with Pakistani and Jewish Sounds

You want esoteric…and way fun? How about a mashup of Pakistani and klezmer sounds? Meet south Asian/Jewish jamband Sandaraa (Pashto for “song”). While they have some rock instrumentation, they’re not a rock band. They sound more Middle Eastern than anything else, which makes sense since Jewish music has roots there, and those exotic modes filtered east centuries, even millennia ago. The brainchild of star Pakistani chanteuse Zebunnisa Bangash and klezmer clarinet powerhouse Michael Winograd, the band also includes Dolunay violinist Eylem Basaldi, Klezmatics/Herbie Hancock drummer Richie Barshay, bassist David Lizmi (of bewitchingly noir cinematic band Karla Rose & the Thorns and Moroccan trance group Innov Gnawa), supersonic accordionist Patrick Farrell, and Israeli surf/metal/jazz guitarist Yoshie Fruchter. Their debut album is streaming at Storyamp, and they’ve got an album release show on May 11 at 7 PM at the big room at the Rockwood; cover is $12. After that, they’re at Barbes on May 16 at 7 PM where they debut their new Urdu poetry-inspired project The Pomegranate of Sistan, addressing “religious orthodoxy and nationalism across cultural divides.”

.While a lot of westerners may associate Pakistan with ghazals and qawwali, Sandaraa incorporate more rustic styles from remote regions of the country. The album’s opening track, Jegi Jegi Lailajan opens with an edgy Middle Eastern freygish riff and then slinks along on an undulating, syncopated groove, Bangash’s suspensefully enticing, air-conditioned delivery rising to warmer heights and then back to more pensive terrain. Who knew Barshay could play clip-clop south Asian percussion, or how effortlessly Fruchter would gravitate to the spiky phrasing of Pakistani rubab music?

Surrealistically blippy Their Majesties Satanic Request organ underscores Bangash’s expressive delivery as the band opens Mana Nele, then they ride Farrell’s pulsing, Qawwali-esque accordion waves, Basaldi and Winograd delivering achingly melancholy, Middle Eastern modal riffage in tandem.

Winograd opens Bibi Sanem Janem with a brief, starkly cantorially-inspired clarinet taqsim, then Fruchter pushes it along with his moody oud until Barshay’s tumbling qawwali groove and Farrell’s steady pulse take over. Winograd takes it out with a long, vividly austere, low-register solo.

A tenderly catchy, shapeshifting lullaby, Dilbarake Nazinim opens with an expansively rustic, pensive solo from Fruchter. The album winds up with the slinky, upbeat Haatera Tayiga, a jaunty mashup that best capsulizes the joyous stylistic brew this band manages to conjure: it’s amazing how much they manage to pack into a single song. As musical hybrids go, there hasn’t been an album this fun or full of surprises released this year.

Tuneful Heavy Psych Epics from River Cult

River Cult is the latest project of guitarist Sean Forlenza, late of epically intense, cinematic heavy rockers Eidetic Seeing. That band really liked long songs, a trait that Forlenza has carried even further on his new band’s debut ep, streaming at Bandcamp.The power trio builds a roaring, enveloping, psychedelic envelope of sound that’s a lot more propulsive than your typical stoner metal or postrock band.

The opening track,. Temps Perdu is a pounding mashup of the early Dream Syndicate, Daydream Nation-era Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine. As long as this song is – just a tad under ten minutes – it’s awfully catchy. Forlenza’s reverb-cloud solo slowly works toward a frantic shriek over Anthony Mendolia’s growling bass and drummer Tav Palumbo’s matter-of-fact, hard-hitting sway. From there they segue through a hypnotically looping outro to Shadow Out Of Time, Forlenza using his slide, again with a ton of reverb over a slow, loping beat. Tempos shift, they hit a headless horseman gallop, riffs echoing Sleep or vintage Sabbath, then finally take it out in a morass of bleeding amps and a twisted kaleidoscope of sound, like scanning the radio dial but not pulling a single clear signal.

The final cut is A Drop In The Ocean – gee, wonder what THAT one is about, huh? Interestingly, it’s the most straightforward number here: at its molten core, it’s an Abbey Road Beatles dirge as a vintage 70s stoner group like Poobah might have done it. Good music for slipping away from reality on a gloomy Sunday.

7horse Bring Their LMAO Stoner Vibe and Catchy, Heavy Sounds to Bowery Electric

7horse play party music that’s not stupid. You might know them from their huge youtube hit, A Friend in Weed. The LA duo have an irrepressible, sardonic sense of humor and a much bigger sound than you’d expect from just a two-piece: big, burning, distorted guitars and an equally epic drum sound. Phil Leavitt sings with a brash but honest, unaffected delivery; guitarist Joie Calio layers his tracks for stadium heft and bulk. Their latest album Living in a Bitch of a World isn’t out yet, but they’ll be playing plenty of it at their show at 9 PM on April 15 at Bowery Electric. Cover is $10

It opens with the title track, a catchy, cynical midtempo number that’s part Dolls, part mid-70s Lou Reed: “Spending quality time with people I hate,” Leavitt complains. Two Stroke Machine – a motorcycle reference – has a four-on-the-floor Mellencamp thump and tasty layers of jangly Rickenbacker guitar, a wry tale about the hard life of a smalltime weed dealer.

The funniest track is their cover of the BeeGees’ Stayin’ Alive, reinvented as a stoner boogie. What might be funniest is that you can actually understand the lyrics, which are pretty awful. Leavitt stays down in his range rather than reaching for Barry Gibb’s helium highs. Dutch Treat isn’t as successful: the joke of a couple of white dudes doing a halfhearted spoof of putrid corporate hip-hop wears thin fast.

One Week is another boogie, a teens update on ZZ Top. 400 Miles from Flagstaff brings back the meat-and-potatoes highway rock, followed by the Stonesy, slide guitar-fueled Liver Damage Victims. Then they go back to heavy-lidded boogie with Answer the Bell: “The light in your eyes is making you sick,” Leavitt bellows knowingly.

Stick to the Myth is a real surprise, a brooding, minor-key kiss-off anthem, and it’s the best song on the album. They keep the low-key simmer going with Drift, a slow, pensive 6/8 stoner blues. The album winds up with She’s So Rock n Roll, an irresistibly spot-on parody of early 70s glam. For now, til the new record’s out, you can get a full-length immersion in what they sound like with their more roughhewn, gutter blues-oriented previous album, Songs for a Voodoo Wedding, streaming at Spotify.

Falu’s Bollywood Orchestra Plays a Mighty, Ecstatic, Sold-Out Dance Party at Flushing Town Hall

By the end of the sold-out, marathon concert by Falu’s Bollywood Orchestra Saturday night at Flushing Town Hall, the back balcony was shaking. Downstairs was a sea of ecstatic, twirling, dancing bodies, as diverse a mix of demographics as can be found in this multicultural city. Just another example of how great music – and a great band – bring people from all cultures of the world together.

Which makes sense. Bollywood music typically blends Indian folk and classical themes with American rock. Yet the most riveting moments, in a night full of them, might have been when the group’s frontwoman – widely considered to be the most captivating singer in all of Indian music – vocalised an entire sitar solo, including the rapidfire coda, with all its wavery microtonal nuance, in an original raga that she’d written in 13/8 time.

A lot of south Asian women sing in a chirpy high soprano, and while Falu can reach for the rafters, she distinguishes herself with a breathtaking mezzo-soprano, with diamond clarity and diamond-cutting power. That would explain why baritone crooner/harmonium player Gaurav Shah would be charged with handling many of the show’s gentler ballads. Soumya Chatterjee spiced several of the songs with his precise, fluttering violin lines when he wasn’t playing acoustic guitar, often with a funky edge. His electric counterpart Bryan Vargas shifted between hypnotic jangle, a little fiery bluesmetal, reverbtoned surf riffage and on one number, he ran his axe through a guitar sitar patch. Bassist Dan Asher and drummer Ray Grappone delivered a pulse that was often ecstatic and terse at the same time while the group’s musical director and percussionist, Deep Singh, added color and stomp, beginning with his big dhol drum slung over his shoulders, then switching to his tabla. Several of the numbers also featured a lush string quartet – violinists Pala Garcia and Jennifer Choi, violist Elzbieta Weyman and cellist John Popham.

The group opened with a spare, otherworldly ballad, then a slinky, swaying bellydance number. Interestingly, their take of the stoner classic Dum Maro Dum (“Take Another Hit”) brought to mind the rather stark, spare original rather than more psychedelic versions that artists have done since the 70s. The material spanned from the middle ages – a new arrangement of a classic raga – through the 60s to the 90s. There were a couple of numbers with a shuffling 70s disco groove, and a handful where the band segued from one into another. A couple of sultry, stomping guy/girl duets explored the battle of the sexes. Gaurav Shah sang elegantly on a swaying Indian take on 70s British chamber pop, and a dusky 1974 folk-rock ballad, But as humble as Falu came across – “I’m always playing with people who are better than me,” she marveled – her voice was spine-tingling, shifting in a split-second from microtonal grace, to smoky sensuality, stratospheric upward flights and raw monsoon power.

There was also a dance interlude midway through the show where Falu grabbed her mic and ran down from the stage to twirl amid the audience, joined by her nimble duo of dancers, to get the rest of the crowd on their feet. That didn’t take much prompting – and foreshadowed the evening’s delirious windup.

Flushing Town Hall features the same kind of programming you see at Joe’s Pub, but better. And it’s way less expensive – and the 1862 auditorium has a charming Gilded Age New York ambience. They do all sorts of multicultural events here. The next big show here is on March 31 at 7 PM, with the amazing, epic Korean folk-improvisation ensemble Jeong Gak Ah Hoe; admission is free with rsvp. Then on  April 9 at 8 PM there’s a triplebill with oldtimey Appalachian Whitetop Mountain Band, clawhammer banjo player Julie Shepherd-Powell and singer Sandy Shortridge. Tix are $16/10 stud.

You Mean That Really Wasn’t Pink Floyd at B.B King’s Last Night?

If B.B. King’s wasn’t sold out last night, it was close to capacity. The crowd was multi-generational: there were at least two tables with grandparents, parents and grandchildren. Dads with college-age daughters were everywhere, and there was a lot of Spanish being spoken: south of the US-Mexico border, art-rock never went into eclipse. Many of those concertgoers spent part of the set with their eyes closed, which made sense. Without watching the band onstage, it was as if Pink Floyd was up there. That good.

Since the 80s, the Machine have made a living on the road playing the complete Pink Floyd catalog. They are revered among musicians. Many of their peers had come out on one of the few truly cold nights of this young “winter” for inspiration and to be swept away by a chillingly spot-on recreation of the towering angst, epic grandeur and improvisational flair of the world’s most iconic art-rock band. The Machine opened with the complete Shine On You Crazy Diamond, Pt. 1. More than three hours later, they ended with the complete second part, plus a long jam midway through where the individual members got to color the music with their own erudite personalities and irrepressible deadpan humor. Like everything else they did, it was in keeping with the spirit of Pink Floyd, subtle and distinctively British. All this from a bunch of native New Yorkers.

Forget having the perfect, unmistakeable collection of vintage keyboard patches and guitar effects: to effectively recreate Pink Floyd takes fearsome chops., which this band has coming out their pores. In deference to the brilliance of David Gilmour, the Machine had two guitarists – frontman Joe Pascarell, and Ryan Ball, who doubled on pedal steel – taking turns with the lead and rhythm parts, channeling sepulchral vibrato, lightning blues and trippy intensity. It was good to hear bassist Adam Minkoff up in the mix, playing Roger Waters’ terse, purposeful lines with a little more treble than Waters typically used, and usually with a pick, as Waters typically did. Drummer Tahrah Cohen perfectly captured Nick Mason’s stately grace, subtle swing and playful counterintuitivity with the occasional well-placed cymbal splash or funereal tom-tom flurry on an elaborate, oversize kit. Scott Chasolen negotatiated Richard Wright’s lavish keyboard orchestration with split-second precision and made it look easy. Surprisingly, the band relied on him as the prime mover during the jams, as much or even more than the guitars. His animated, good-naturedly spiraling phrases brought to mind Genesis’ Tony Banks more than they did Wright.

After the richly lingering opening number, Pascarell tackled the evening’s lone “deep album cut,” Fat Old Sun – from the Atomheart Mother record – running his Strat through an acoustic patch, Ball on pedal steel, Chasolen channeling Richard Wright at his most austerely spiritual with spacious gospel piano licks. They followed with album-precise versions of Breathe and Time, establishing that the band had the essential organ and guitar tones, Ball using the steel to recreate Gilmour’s anguished slide guitar riffage. What was clear by now was how much this band plays up Pink Floyd’s psychedelic side – and notwithstanding how many hundreds of times they’ve played these songs onstage, how much fun this band has after all this years. “It’s good to smoke a bone beside the fire,” Pascarell intoned at the end of Time, resulting in a wave of raised joints, one-hitters and vape thingys down front.

Early in a matter-of-fact, aptly brooding, low-key take of Mother, Pascarell turned the mic over to the audience. “Mother do you think they’re going to break?…” got the appropriately ballsy response, nobody missing a beat. Later during the second set, he and the rest of the band teased the crowd with a succession of riffs: what was it going to be, Careful With That Axe, Eugene, or Astronomy Domine? It turned out to be a searing yet comfortably relaxed Lucifer Sam.

As hard-driven as much of the material was – a snarling Not Now John, complete with “Fuck all that” chorus, and blistering takes of Comfortably Numb and Run Like Hell – the high point was a hypnotically pulsing, enveloping, potently crescendoing full-length version of Dogs. Otherwise, this was the classic rock radio set. Chasolen’s warpy synth solo on Money was a vast improvement on the awful sax solo on the original, and his washes of white noise on Hey You just as unexpectedly welcome. The band’s choice of riding a slow build through most of side one of The Wall up to big radio hit – where they reveled in the song’s inner funk – was a revelation. There was also a take of Wish You Were Here with a long twelve-string acoustic intro and audience singalong. Pink Floyd may be history, but that doesn’t stop a new generation of alienated kids from discovering them, and being transformed by them, every year. It’s a good thing that we have the Machine to keep that vast body of work alive onstage. And they have a similarly vast page, where you can treat yourself to enough concert material to keep you in more-or-less new Floyd for literally weeks.