New York Music Daily

Global Music With a New York Edge

Category: stoner music

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 archive.org page, where you can treat yourself to enough concert material to keep you in more-or-less new Floyd for literally weeks.

Jack Grace Puts on a Clinic in Latin-Inflected Surrealist Americana Tunesmithing and Entertainment at Barbes

Jack Grace was a good lead guitarist ten years ago. He’s a brilliant one now. Twenty years of constant touring will do that to you. Grace is best known for his surreal, LMFAO sense of humor and his funny songs that veer from exuberant vintage C&W, to Waits noir blues, to simmering southwestern gothic anthems. Leading a trio last night at Barbes, Grace put on a clinic in sizzling guitar and Americana songcraft. This was his latin set, propelled by drummer Russ Meissner’s expertly accented shuffle grooves. A flick of the cymbals, a rattle of the traps, a sudden gunshot rimshot, he made them all count. And maybe just coincidentally, it was a bittersweetly nostalgic show, at least as far as evoking the days ten years ago when Grace was booking the old Rodeo Bar, and could be found playing Lakeside Lounge on random Saturday nights when he wasn’t on the road.

They opened with Put on Your Shoes, Moonshine, a pensive, lyrically torrential desert rock anthem. Next was a boisterous trucker song peppered with filthy CB slang, the song’s chatty narrator wasting no time in explaining that the parking lot he’s spending the night is is so lame that the only hooker working it is a guy. “People that I can’t relate to don’t understand my ways.” Grace groused in Don’t Wanna Work Today, an uneasy, bluesy, minor-key Tex-Mex number.

“This next song is about snorting cocaine in the bathroom. There are plenty of places where you can do cocaine…but here in New York, the bathroom is where we do it,” Grace deadpanned in his cat-ate-the-canary, Johnny Cash-influenced baritone and then launched into Cry, a brooding minor-key cha-cha that swung from sly drug-fueled optimism to the despondency that sets in like a giant cat over the city the afternoon after a night of too many lines and too much tekillya. Speaking of which, he played his own version of Tequila – a dancing border-rock tune, not the surf rock instrumental – where the “lie, lie, lie” of the chorus spoke for itself.

The trio moved methodically from the muted country anomie of South Dakota to the sparse minor-key Waits blues strut Sugarbear. Throughout the set, Grace segued into deadpan country verses of familiar Led Zep songs, a trope he’s been working for years, more now since his side project Van Hayride – known for their even funnier covers of pre-Sammy Hagar Van Halen and other loud, cheesy stuff from the 80s – is temporariliy on the shelf. One of the night’s funniest moments was when Grace his his flange pedal, and without missing a beat, segued into a note-for-note cover of Pink Floyd’s Breathe, complete with a searing, doublespeed, savagely tremolo-picked guitar solo that would have made David Gilmour jealous.

The title track to Grace’s forthcoming album Everything I Say Is a Lie turned out to be a slowly swaying mashup of doo-wop, early 70s Willie Nelson and late 60s Jimmy Web balladry. Been So Long Since I Bothered to Think, an unselfconsciously haunting ba-bump bolero reminded just how dark and intense Grace can get when he’s in the mood. “In middle school I learned to criticize, the world’s broken down and compromised, “ he lamented – and then took a hit of beer and gargled a couple of choruses. Nobody can ever say this guy’s not entertaining.

The band went back to pensive, rustically bluesy ambience with Rotary Phone, a brooding, metaphorically loaded tale about getting old and out of touch, then some comic relief with a wry medley of Zep, Nirvana and Doors riffs. The set continued with a seriously bizarre C&W version of a Talking Heads song, then the absurdist mariachi funk of It Was a Really Bad Year – “A song that gets a lot of airplay this time of the year,” Grace mused – then a moody, pretty straight-up cover of Hank Williams’ I’ll Never Get Out of This World Alive. They closed with Big Bear, an electrified bluegrass tune from the film Super Troopers. Grace is at Coyote Ugly Saloon on First Ave. just south of 10th St. – who have bands now – on December 29 at around 9, then he’s playing a New Year’s Eve show in Saratoga Springs and returns to Coyote Ugly on January 5.

A Second Sick, Reverb-Drenched Disc of Holiday Dub from Super Hi-Fi

Super Hi-Fi play live dub reggae. Their signature sound blends the twin-trombone frontline of Rick Parker and Curtis Fowlkes (of Lounge Lizards/Jazz Passengers fame) into a moodier, sometimes noir-tinged take on vintage Lee Scratch Perry or what the Skatalites were doing in their quieter moments during the golden age of Jamaican ska. When the band started, they had more of an Afrobeat feel, no surprise since bassist/bandleader Ezra Gale led first-rate, second-wave Bay Area Afrobeat band Aphrodesia. These days, they’re a lot slinkier and more low key. From their doomy and seriously excellent debut album, Dub to the Bone, you’d have no idea just how funny this band can be…unless you also know the follow-up to that, Yule Analog Vol. 1, a snarky collection of dub versions of Christmas carols. Sure enough, when the band went into the studio, they did enough of those to fill not one but two cds  – four album sides, considering that the band is known for their vinyl releases – of this shit. And they’re back, with Yule Analog, Vol. 2 – streaming at Bandcamp – and a show in the front window at the intimate, laid-back Bar Chord in Ditmas Park on December 19 at 9.

The previous collection opened with a theme that Jethro Tull was known for pilfering – are you laughing yet? This time it’s Simon & Garfunkel. OK, not a Simon & Garfunkel original, and not with the samples or the antiwar message. What it does have is tons of reverb on the guitar, gently oscillating organ, a rhythm section that sways rather than skanks along and meanderingly goodnatured ska-jazz trombone solos. It sets the stage: the most recurring joke here is the cat-and-mouse game about what song they’re playing and how far they go with it.

O Come All Ye Faithfull (with the double L in “faithfull” – oldschool 90s stoner humor?) doesn’t do that as much, and after awhile the carol has you reaching for the fast-forward. The Christmas Song takes a very, very, very familiar Irving Berlin theme toward swing, with a wry Mitch Marcus tenor sax solo that fades just when it seems like there’s a serious punchline on deck. But the Tschaikovsky theme is killer: who else would have thought to wring Jamdown noir and ambient noise from the Nutcracker?

Gale and drummer Madhu Siddappa keep What Child Is This very close to the ground for a bit until the screams from Jon Lipscomb’s guitar signal another chorus: it’s not hard to imagine this epically delicious plate emanating from the Black Ark in a cloud of ganja smoke circa 1976. They follow that with a funny ska song, Please Santa Bring Me an Echoplex, the album’s only vocal number.

The rest of the tracks are versions of the early songs, and each is an improvement. O Come All Ye etc. gets a black-hole spin through the Echoplex. The Tschaikovsky grows into a mind-altering blend of the baroque, King Tubby and postbop jazz. There’s also the noisy What Version Is This?  [memo to self – isn’t there a carol called It Came Upon a  Midnight Clear?] and a brief Echoplex Reprise. The joke works better before or after December: as heavy disguises as these songs wear, it’s hard to avoid reaching holiday smarm saturation point this time of year. Unless you do your grocery shopping and other retail stuff where this blog travels – in that case, that means salsa, bachata, reggaeton and Polish hip-hop. All of which have never sounded better than they have this month.

Faith Put Their Individualistic Downtown NYC Spin on Classic Roots Reggae

For the better part of two decades, reggae-rockers Faith have been one of New York’s most distinctive, intoxicatingly groove-driven bands. Frontwoman Felice Rosser’s deep, purposefully exploratory basslines established her long ago as one of the most consistently interesting and original four-string players in town. She sings in an earthy, unselfconsciously soulful contralto that brings to mind Nina Simone, but with more range and a breathier, more balmy upper register. The band has a brand-new ep, Soul Secrets – streaming at Soundcloud – and a show tonight, November 14 at 8 PM at Matchless in Williamsburg where they’re followed by metalish cinema rock band Western Estates and then postrock pioneer Wharton Tiers – who recorded this album – and his band. Cover is $8.

The album’s title track has a driving vintage 70s roots reggae feel – think Aswad, Steel Pulse, Jacob Miller, i.e. the more guitar-fueled acts from reggae’s golden age. “Sometimes we are two cultured pearls inside a crusty shell,” Rosser muses in Lovers, which-builds from a slinky guitar-and-organ roots groove to a harder-edged, guitar-fueled chorus, Rosser shifting seamlessly from her powerful low range to an arguably even more powerful falsetto. Her rising bass matches Nao Hakamada’s slowly crescendoing, smoldering guitar solo.

The third track, Love of a Lifetime falls midway between those two styles, Hakamada pulling the band out of a dizzying dub interlude with some neat backward-masked riffage before he takes the energy further toward redline. The slow/midtempo, early 70s style soul-jazz infused Carried Away brings to mind classic-period Third World. There’s also a dub version of that track that gives the whole band, especially drummer Paddy Boom more headroom for his psychedelic textures. Much as there’s plenty of studio sorcery going on here, especially in the deepest of the dub moments, the album is a good approximation of Faith’s hypnotic live show. They’re a New York institution: there aren’t many people left from the Lower East Side when it was a hotbed of creativity, 10 or 20 years ago, who haven’t seen them. Now it’s your turn.

Desert Flower Bring Their Smoldering, Intense Heavy Psychedelia to the East Village Saturday Night

On Sundays starting at around 11 in the morning, there’s a flea market at Paperbox in Bushwick. Along with the antiques and tchotchkes and book stalls and used vinyl, there’s street fair food out back, and if you’re of age there are drinks at the bar. A lot of people go here for daydrinking ($3 drafts until 2 PM, yikes!), or to bring the kids and see some live music, because they have bands here. And some of them are fantastic: psychedelic cumbia group Consumata Sonidera treated the crowd to a sizzling show here a couple of weeks ago. The highlight of this past week was a tightly ferocious set by heavy psychedelic band Desert Flower. Although they mash up some very famliiar styles, most of them from the 70s, they’re one of the most individualistic bands in town: there is no other group in New York who sound remotely like them.

One of the keys to their sound is the contrast between the two guitarists. Migue Mendez plays a Gibson SG through a Fender amp with the reverb turned up most of the time, delivering creepily echoing, deep-space quasar leads, menacingly shivery flurries of reverb riffage and sunbaked stoner blues lines. Paola Luna plays a Telecaster, varying her attack from gritty, terse, blues-based riff-rock, to a menacing, sustained minor-key clang. Bassist Seba Fernandez and drummer Alfio Casale cluster and churn as they propel the songs’ generally slow-to-midtempo grooves. Out in front of the band, singer Bela Zap Art sways slowly, eyes closed, completely lost in the music as the waves slowly rise and then break behind her. Much as she has a bluesy wail to match Heart’s Ann Wilson, there’s an elegance and nuance in that powerfullly modulated alto of hers, with touches of cabaret and nuevo tango. Considering that musicians tend to be night creatures, Desert Flower ought to be even more careeningly powerful when they play Sidewalk this Saturday night, November 14 at midnight

The Paperbox show opened with a flurry of drums and growling, trebly bass, Fernandez playing off to the side of the stage as the briskly ominous stomp built steam, part early Siouxsie, part early 90s NYC gutter blues, part punk, Mendez building to an all-too-brief, searing solo toward the end. And a listen back to the recording reveals something that was anything but obvious at the moment: the song doesn’t have any chord changes!

The band likes to segue between songs, and they did that right off the bat, Mendez and Luna flinging dark fragments of melody against each other before the rhythm section came back in, Luna’s sepulchral upper-register shrieks capping off Mendez’s heavy blues lines and mighty, majestic slide playing.  Zap Art bent her notes with a surreal, lysergic ominousness as the song built slowly to a peak.

The most epic song of the set was Traveler, a slow, haunting 6/8 noir blues dirge written by a composer friend from Buenos Aires. After that, they went back to the riff-rock with a moodily shuffling new number, Zap Art bringing to mind blue-eyed soul belters like Genya Ravan when she hit the impassioned, blues-drenched chorus. The band’s most intense original was another marauding 6/8 minor-key anthem: “Falling down from the grey skies,” Zap Art wailed again and again over the twin guitars’ sharkteeth attack.  The sarcastic march that followed, like the Dead Kennedys taking a detour into circus rock, was every bit as potent. They wound up the show with a tight, furious cover of Moonage Daydream that looked back to the live pyrotechnics of the Mick Ronson-era version of Bowie’s band.

And the opening act was good too. It would have been fun to have seen more than the last handful of songs by noisy, intense power trio Slow Suck. Frontwoman/guitarist Kiki Sabater has an individualistically dirty but melodic sound that brings to mind early Bauhaus as well as what Courtney Love was doing on the first Hole album, i.e. before she went completely off the rails. Sabater’s songs don’t follow any kind of predictable verse/chorus pattern, and the rhythm section behind her negotiated those tricky transitions between slow and sinister and screaming punk rock with an impressive elegance, particularly the bassist, whose thoughtful hammer-ons and slinky melodies darkened an already vivid, gloomy ambience. Sabater’s unselfconsciously anguished wail drove it all home.

Fever the Ghost Bring Their Droll Blend of Glam, Psychedelia and Art-Rock to Bushwick

The title of Fever the Ghost’s new album Zirconium Meconium – streaming at Bandcamp – basically means “fake shit.” Is that because their style springboards off a sparkly psychedelic sound that crystallized about a half-century ago? Whatever the case, the quality of the music is no joke, even if the album is full of them. Fever the Ghost have a gig tonight, November 7 at around 9 at Alphaville,140 Wilson Ave (Stuydam/Willoughby) in Bushwick, cover TBA, guessing around $10. Take the M to Central Ave.

Bobby Victor’s ornate, baroque-tnged piano kicks off the instrumental overture Metempsychosis, which segues into Rounder II, frontman Casper Indrizzo’s strobe guitar mingling with the organ for a high, High Romantic vibe with a touch of glam. If Spacehog was a keyboard band, they’d sound like this. From there the group segues into Hinterland, Indrizzo’s playful faux-Bowie vocals rising over pulsing waves of ELO keyb arpeggios, bassist Mason Rothschild and drummer Nick Overhauser providing an unexpectedly balletesque beat.

Peace Crimes has a mystifyingly out-of-tune synth underneath the balmy vocals, lingering guitar and Tschaikovskian tune. Surf’s Up!…Nevermind puts a droll prog-pop spin on Astronomy Domine-era Pink Floyd. Long Tall Stranger – a trippily twisted tale of a child kidnapping – reverts to a blend of blue-eyed Bowie soul and vintage symphonic rock.

Fathoms puts a third-wave glam spin on an old Status Quo garage rock classic. From there the band takes a techy-tacky, Pulp-ish detour into synthy disco with 1518, then bookends a nebulous interlude with new wave Motown in Sun Moth. Vervain (Dreams of an Old Wooden Cage) leavens the gravitas of mid-90s Blur with a wry Gringo Star sensibility. The album winds up with Equal Pedestrian – a not-so-successful parody of Disney autotune pop – and the George Harrison-esque piano ballad A Friend in Lonely Jesus. Like a lot of the best psychedelia, this music doesn’t take itself the least bit seriously, especially as far as the faux-operatic octave effects on the vocals are concerned. If the band can replicate any reasonable proportion of this studio grandeur, they should be a lot of fun live.

Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats – The Ultimate 2015 Halloween Soundtrack?

The opening track of Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats’ latest album The Night Creeper- streaming at Spotify – is Waiting for Blood. What makes this band so macabre? The slow, creeping tempos? The burning, distorted minor-key guitar progressions? What might set this group apart from all the post-Sleep, third-generation Sabbath-influenced stoner metal acts is the vocal harmonies. And when lead guitarist Kevin Starrs finally sends his hammer-ons spinning through the channels, right to left and back in a second, that’s just the icing on the cake. Track two, Murder Nights, opens with a noxious swirl of distorted roto organ and three-part vocal harmonies that evoke the Move circa 1970 as much as they put Sabbath to shame: “People creep like poison in the mind.”

Downtown takes a lurid ba-bump stripper riff and makes stalker metal out of it: the Wytches come to mind. Pusher Man springboards off of Iron Maiden off their most scorching, wide-angle minor-key mid-80s intensity and strips it down for a searing, unrelenting sway that’s impossible to turn away from, Starrs adding one of the many tantalizingly brief acid-metal guitar solos that permeate this album. He’s the rare lead guitarist you want to hear more of.

Yellow Moon makes for an unexpected respite from the horror with its slowly unwinding early King Crimson-style psychedelia…until the reverb guitars of Starrs and Yotam Rubinger build to a terrified starscape and then fade out. Starrs gets the twisted Melody Lane going with his macabre organ over the stomp of bassist Vaughn Stokes and drummer Itamar Rubinger, a twisted tale of desire whose object “pulls a knife when she loves in the dark” and leaves a “bloody remark.”

The album’s swaying, menacingly crescendoing title track is the most retro – if you can imagine a collaboration between the late Carl Wayne and Tony Iommi. But then it picks up with an even more enveloping Iron Maiden sweep peaking with a searing rise to the rafters.

Stokes’ growling, pouncing, propulsive bass propels Inside, a mashup of Arthur Lee, the Kinks and maybe ELO at their most disturbing. The album’s most original track is Slow Death, which opens as a Move-like anthem but slowly builds to a volcanic, lingering peak that cruelly fades out. The album winds out with the unexpetedly subdued Black Motorcade, a Doors-influenced dirge that wouldn’t be out of place in the Frank Flight Band catatog. Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats’ current European tour continues with a gig at the University of Stuttgart on October 24.

Kalascima Bring Their Intoxicating, Psychedelic Italian Folk Dancefloor Grooves to Drom

Puglia, Italy’s psychedelically shapeshifting Kalascima make their New York debut on October 14 at 6:30 at Drom; cover is $15. Their latest album, Psychedelic Trance Tarantella is streaming at soundcloud. And it’s like nothing else you’ll hear coming out of the US, that’s for sure. Italy has been a hotbed of hot musical cross-pollination for literally millennia, and this group is no exception, part dancefloor trance band, part lively folk-rock outfit, part wild circus rock unit. The flurrying twin-percussion team of Riccardo Lagana and Federico Lagana propel the group in tandem with low-key bassist Riccardo Basile. Massimiliano De Marco plays an arsenal of acoustic stringed instruments, with Luca Buccarella on accordion and Aldo Iezza playing all sorts of reeds, from sax to the zampogna (sort of the Italian counterpart to the Irish uilleann pipes)

The album’s title track has uneasy vocal loops mingling with Celtic-tinged accordion and zampogna. With its droll, ever-present jawharp, This Way is a woozy, hypnotic, somewhat goofy mashup of qawwali and Italian folk. The catchy, slowly swaying Lu Sule adds wry hints of hip-hop and dub to a spiky, spiraling folk-rock anthem.

Moi! returns to a surreal mashup of tarantella catchiness and trancey qawwali dnacefloor groove, heavier on the former than the latter with some unexpectedly menacing vocal harmonies midway through. Mary Di Salem sends disembodied vocals and dubwise washes of keys floating through the mix over a muted dancefloor thud. Due Mari, featuring cinematic art-rocker Ludovico Einaudi on scampering, staccato piano, follows a slowly swaying, anthemic triplet rhythm spiced with De Marco’s rippling Irish bouzouki.

Kore, one of the deeper trance numbers here, anchors the brightly dancing accordion and Irish-flavored bouzouki in shifting, rhythmic grey-noise patches. The trippy grooves continue with Il Giardino, part qawwali, part spinning spider dance. Canto Degli Emigranti has a purposeful, briskly strolling bounce, dancing phrases from the zampogna, accordion and bouzouki echoing off each other as they spin through the mix.

La Rivolta Dell’Arneo is the techiest number here with its new wave synth loops and ever-present dancefloor thump anchoring briskly pulsing accordion and mandolin. The album winds up with the lush, windswept Musa – Musa Reprise, a sort of sea chantey without words, getting stranger and stranger as it goes along. English translations of the lyrics are hard to find, but the group seems to have a sense of humor, echoed in the interplay between the instruments. You can get seriously lost in this.

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