New York Music Daily

Love's the Only Engine of Survival

Tag: brian jonestown massacre

Lush Jangle and Clang and Retro 80s Spacerock From Blackout Transmission

Once in a blue moon a publicist for a band absolutely nails what they’re about. Here’s Dave Clifford on what retro 80s psychedellc group Blackout Transmission are all about: “This is not set-it-and-forget-it delay pedal rehash. Strong drums and lush guitars.” Thanks for the punchline Dave! Their jangly, atmospheric debut album Sparse Illumination is streaming at Bandcamp.

They open with a slow, echoey spacerock instrumental, Once There: it could be one of the short, vampy pieces that the Church would end an album side, or begin one with, back in the 80s. That comparison may seem like impossible hype, but this duo nail the Australian legends’ blend of lush clang and drifting textures in several tracks here. The tense, anxiously pulsing chords as the icy Heavy Circles gets underway, and the anthemic, ringing peaks and valleys of Verdant Return, in particular, are a delicious throwback to albums like Seance and Sometime Anywhere.

Since She Guided You Away is a loping Laurel Canyon psychedelic anthem through the prism of the 80s, with its layers of buzz, burn and drift, the missing link between the Church and, say, the Allah-La’s. Likewise, Tactile Responses comes across as the Cure’s Robert Smith staring at the desert sand. And the band loop a Seventeen Seconds-style riff for the most hypnotic, shoegazy number here, Pacifica.

The dancing bassline and echoey guitar trails in Portals are straight out of the Brian Jonestown Massacre playbook. The band go back to the Church again to close the record with Sleepwalking Again, Anthony Salazar’s restlessly tumbling drums and relentlesly uneasy chord changes. Lyrics and vocals don’t really figure into this music: it’s all about atmosphere, and textures, and tunes, and tight, purposeful playing from a group that also comprises bandleader/guitarist Christopher Goett, lead guitarist Adam D’Zurilla and bassist Kevin Cluppert. If that resonates and reverberates with you, fire this up and get lost.

A Gorgeously Eerie Debut Album From Psychedelic Band Immaterial Possession

Immaterial Possession play deliciously individualistic, macabre psychedelic rock informed by but hardly limited to classic 1960s sounds. Their self-titled debut album is streaming at Bandcamp.

The band vamp over Cooper Holmes’ punchy, chugging bassline in Midnight Wander, keyboardist Kiran Fernandes’ clarinet leaping and bounding, guitarist Madeline Polites adding eerie chromatic flourishes. Imagine the Brian Jonestown Massacre playing one of Alec K. Redfearn‘s more Balkan-tinged tunes.

With its eerie, swoopy organ, See Through Stares could be a low-key Blue Oyster Cult lurker from the early 70s with a woman out front. The album’s first big epic is Tropical Still Life, with its ultraviolet blend of starry keys and jangly, lingering reverb guitar, drummer John Spiegel’s boomy flourishes enhancing the mysterious ambience.

The instrumental Phase One follows an increasingly mechanical, marching sway – a reference to the initial deadly effects of this year’s lockdown, maybe? Bosphorus Brine has echoes of Ummagumma-era Pink Floyd, Indian-tinged modal menace and keening organ. From there the group segue into the witchy, gamelanesque instrumental Circle of Bells.

Rising Moons, another organ-driven instrumental nocturne, wouldn’t be out of place in the Lost Patrol catalog. Accidental Summoning has trippy singing bowls, crazed doubletracked bass clarinet and a hypnotic, Arabic-tinged groove.

Phase Two, another instrumental interlude, has a haphazardly plucked, loopy menace. The album’s final cut, Nightcap could be tropical psychedelic legends Os Mutantes at their darkest. This one’s on the shortlist of best rock records of what has otherwise been a miserable year, although not the fault of any musicians who’re still active.

Allusive, Intense Psychedelia and an Unexpected Atlantic Avenue Gig From Gold Dime

Gold Dime’s latest album My House – streaming at Bandcamp – is a deliciously haphazard quantum leap for a band that started out as a side project for guitarist/singer Andrya Ambro (half of messy, well-known avant rock duo Talk Normal). It’s vastly darker and more psychedelic than anything she’s ever done. Having a new lineup that now includes guitarist John Bohannon (whose ambient project Ancient Ocean is 180 degrees from this) and Ian Douglas-Moore on bass probably has something to do with that. They’re playing avant garde central, Roulette – which very rarely has rock bands – on Feb 21 at around 9. Frequent Marc Ribot collaborator and genius multi-instrumentalist Shahzad Ismaily opens the night at 8; advance tix are $18 and available for cash at the box office on shownights as well as online.

The album’s opening track, Hindsight comes across as a vampy, more kinetic, noisy take on Brian Jonestown Massacre. The similarly noisy title track looks back to hypnotically dubby, no-wave tinged Slits – or a more organic Shellac.

With its thundering drum buildup and evil, tremolo-picked web of reverb guitar, La Isla de Vaso could be 80s noiserock legends Live Skull backing an enigmatic spoken word track. ABC Wendy has lo-fi, pulsing wave motion and walls of feedback: think vintage late 80s Sonic Youth with a competent bass player.

Douglas-Moore’s spare chords hardly hint at the enveloping, menacing gallop the group’s going to hit with Boomerang. Peggy is built around a swoopy noise-guitar loop: it seems somebody’s in trouble here, not that Ambro is going to bring any of her surreal, fragmented narratives here into clear focus. It’s the one point on the album where, unless you’re high, you could stop the track midway through and not miss anything.

Revolution is a pissed-off call to action awash in a morass of guitars and agitatingly pummeling drums: “Wait a minute, I smell burning,” Ambro cautions. A distantly blazing sax solo adds allusive Indian flavor; if Patti Smith was recording Radio Ethiopia at this minute, it might sound something like this.

The album closes with Goose, briskly strummed bass chords anchoring a disjointed dialogue between Ambro and one of the guys in the band.

The Schizophonics Bring Their Extended Play Garage Rock Energy to Union Pool Tonight

Bump bump, bump-bump, bump. Hey!

A cynic would say that pretty much sums up what garage rock is all about. But year after year, a new generation of leather-jacketed kids discovers the indomitably energetic retro sounds the Schizophonics revisit on their new album People in the Sky, which is due shortly at their Bandcamp page (there are a handful of singles already up now) They’re playing Union Pool tonight, Oct 30 at 8 PM; cover is $10. You’ll probably want to take the G train home afterward because the L will be down by the time the show’s over.

Either you can’t resist the good energy this stuff gives off, or you find it irredeeemably cliched. If you’re in the former camp, here goes; frantic vocals, buzzy guitars and basic riffs one step removed from the early soul music that the first practitioners of the style – the Pretty Things, Kinks, Blues Magoos, and every one-single wonder from Lenny Kaye’s Nuggets anthologies – could muster up in cheap studios or garages from dirty water Boston to sonic Seattle.

What differentiates the Schizophonics from decades of other bump bump, bump-bump, bump, hey! bands is that guitarist Pat Beers uses distortion and somewhat less ancient amps which give their music more than a tinge of the stoner boogie that eventually morphed out of garage rock by the end of the 60s. And their songs often go on past the two minute thirty second mark. Imagine the Arctic Monkeys if they’d been raised on the Kinks instead of Led Zep.

The album’s opening track is an anomaly in the garage rock genre, an epic, five minute-plus take of pretty much everything you can do with a 1-5-7-1 progression. Steeley Eyed Lady is a fuzztone tune that sounds like the Mooney Suzuki – except with an acoustic guitar grafted on.

Nine Miles has some chromatics, a scampering soul bassline and an unhinged teenage Dave Davies style guitar solo. The title track sounds like the Brian Jonestown Massacre on coke; The One I Want could be Muck & the Mires. Battle Line is vaguely political. Not Gonna Change My Mind wouldn’t be out of place among the MC5’s poppiest songs.

Long Way to Go is the album’s big stomper, while Show Me Your Eyes is the fuzziest – and arguably catchiest, with all that slapback reverb. Like a Mummy is a Sonics shout-out with the album’s best guitar solo. Down and Out is their All of the Day and All of the Night. The album’s final cut is She’s Coming Back, with a series of goofy modulations. If all the retro rock references here resonate with you, you’ll love this crew.

If you’re looking for today’s Halloween installment, take a trip back just over a year ago and revisit Brooklyn’s best young band, Dark Beasts, captured at the peak of their power at a semi-secret show in July of 2018.

Uneasily Echoey Spacerock and Post-Velvets Psychedelia from the Abyssmals

The first thing you notice about the Abyssmals‘ new record The Abyssmals Present Gospels, Hymns and Other Trash – streaming at Bandcamp – is how how much reverb is on it. But it’s not a cheesy slapback effect: it’s more trebly. Just to be clear: the upstate New York five-piece are not a gospel group. Their retro sound oozes through dark garage rock, primitive psychedelia and the occasional dip into the surf. Brian Jonestown Massacre are the obvious reference point; some of the shorter, punchier tracks bring to mind the unhinged R&B of the Pretty Things right around the time they’d discovered LSD.

The first track, Enter…the Abyssmals is a dark surf song; in less than a minute, the downward cascades of tremolo-picking have kicked in and it’s obvious this record is going to some shadowy places. The second cut, Sleepwalker starts out with drummer Nick Nigro’s muted ba-bump Cramps beat, then the envelopingly opiated post-Velvets ambience takes over.

Death Row Messiah is all about cool contrasts: cheap Vox amp jangle versus resonance, the peaks driven not by the guitars of Jarpon Reyes and Bob Forget, but by Boris Cahrenger’s emphatic bass. Muffy Reyes’ organ bleeds with the two guitars into a deep-sky pool in the slowly swaying Mansion of Happenings. Then the band pick up the pace with For All of Time, post-Rubber Soul verse rising to gritty powerpop chorus.

Imagine the Pretty Things taking a stab at go-go music and you get See You Go, with its burbly bass and roller-rink organ. Spare, dissociative acoustic phrases punctuate the gritty, riff-driven spacerock of Nobody Cool. A slinky McCartney-ish bass hook propels the hypnotic No Sleep Til Low Beat, while the droning organ and subtly oscillating guitars of Good Faith bring to mind the Black Angels. The album winds up with its longest track and most obvious Velvets homage, Kiss, Kiss Abyss. In case you’re wondering how this band managed to form in a backwater place like Poughkeepsie, keep in mind that musicians like this would still be flocking to New York and creating a scene if housing was affordable here.

Revisiting a Hypnotically Enveloping Psychedelic Gem From the Philistines

The Philistines’ 2016 album The Backbone of Night – streaming at Bandcamp – could be the lost classic the Brian Jonestown Massacre never released, a rapturous lysergic labyrinth of jangle and clang and roar and ripple half-obscuring frontwoman Kimmie Queen’s vocals.. Full disclosure: the record has been sitting on the hard drive here since it came out, in hopes the Kansas City band would play New York. If they have, it slipped under the radar here.

There’s a mix of clang, icy wash and ripple from Cody Wyoming and Rod Peal’s  guitars, Michelle Bacon’s bass  and Josh Mobley’s Rhodes piano in the ominously catchy opening track, Steep: “I had nothing left to show to show, just another day alone,” Queen intones.

1971 is a forest of psychedelic guitars over a 1-4-5 chord patttern: Rhode Island legends Plan 9 come to mind. The epically hypnotic Radiation Drive has a deftly shifting spacerock drift, part Brian Jonestown Massacre, part the Church, the mix rippling with multitracked rings and pings up to a sarcastic chorus. Is this a Fukushima reference?

A Twitch of the Death Nerve slashes into stoner riff-rock territory: with its layers and layers of keys and guitars, Plan 9 again come to mid. The band swirl around a tersesly clanging Rickenbacker guitar riff in the Beatlesque Accretion Disco, up to a spiky, Middle Eastern guitar solo midway through. It’s the album’s most delirious delicious track.

With its luridly multrtracked web of acoustic and electric guitars, the pouncing Arecibo is a dead ringer for brilliant/obscure New York art-rock legends Of Earth, A Heart Like Candy is an imaginative transformation of early 60s doo-wop pop into reverberating art-rock: it’s easy to imagine Blondie wanting to be this epic.

Stygia, awash in quasar guitar pulses and Steve Gardels’ tumbling drums, follows a delirious intertwine up to a sudden coda. The band wind up the album with Get Inside, an enveloping, Bowie-esque anthem built out of a simple two-chord vamp. If you buy the concept that psychedelics are as Halloween as Halloween gets, you can consider this today’s Halloween month installment.

Twin Guns Bring Their Searing Noir Intensity to a Revered, Repurposed East Village Spot

Are Twin Guns the best straight-up rock band in New York right now? They could be. Since the early zeros, the trio of guitarist Andrea Sicco, former Cramps drummer Jungle Jim and bassist Kristin Fayne-Mulroy have put out three volcanic, creepy, reverb-oozing albums that blend punk, garage rock, horror surf and spaghetti western sounds. Their latest one, Imaginary World – streaming at Bandcamp – continues in the more ornate, menacingly psychedelic direction of their previous release The Last Picture Show. Their next gig is tomorrow night, June 14 at 9:30 PM at Coney Island Baby, the former Brownies and Hifi Bar space. Cover is $12.

The new album begins with the title cut, Sicco’s menacingly reverberating layers of guitar over steady, uneasy tom-toms and cymbal splashes, the bass a looming presence deep in the mix. As the surreal tableau builds, Sicco adds roaring, pulsing and keening slide guitar textures, a one-man psychedelic punk guitar army.

100 Teenage Years follows a furtively vampy Laurel Canyon psych-folk tangent in the same vein as the Allah-Las. Cannibal Soul is a twisted waltz, Fayne-Mulroy supplying hypnotic fuzztone growl beneath Sicco’s slowly uncoiling, macabre layers of chromatics, a sonic black velvet cake. Then the trio mash up doom metal and horror surf in Dark Is Rising, funeral organ tremoloing over a crushing Bo Diddley beat.

Complete with a peppy horn section, Portrait in Black could be the darkest faux bossa Burt Bacharach ever wrote – or Tredici Bacci in especially mean, sarcastic mode. The band revisit their more straight-ahead vintage garage rock roots with the shuffling Sad Sad Sunday, then move forward thirty years to the hypnotically riff-driven Blueberry Sugar, which sounds like the Brian Jonestown Massacre playing Motown.

Sociopath is a straight-up zombie strut, Sicco artfully adding layers around the skeleton. The lush, bleak dirge House on the Hill brings unexpected plaintiveness and gravitas to the playlist, followed by the album’s most ep[ic track, Endless Dream, rising from 60s riff-rock to BJM spacerock to melancholy psych-folk and a final sampede out.

There are also three bonus tracks. My Baby, awash in a toxic exhaust of white noise, drifts from punk R&B toward the outer galaxies. Sick Theater might be the album’s best and creepiest track, a macabre, funereal, organ-infused waltz. The final song is Late at Night, an evilly twinkling, hypnotic way to wrap up one of the most unselfconsciously fun and intense albums in recent memory.

Heaters Swirl Through Deep Space to South Williamsburg

Heaters have been through a lot of changes over the last couple of years. Their 2015 debut, Holy Water Pool, was a reverb-iced, dark psychedelic rock treat. Baptistina, from last year, drifted toward a more hypnotic Brian Jonestown Massacre post-Velvets expanse.  The group’s latest album, Matterhorn – due up at Bandcamp at the end of the month –  completes the shift into spacerock, an extended suite in the same vein as what King Gizzard were doing before that band went Middle Eastern and microtonal.Heaters have a gig tomorrow night, Oct 29 at around 8:30 at Baby’s All Right. Careeningly intense “occult blues” bandleader Breanna Barbara opens the night at 7:30; cover is $12.

The new album opens with a twinkling, oceanically propulsive diptych. The rhythm goes almost motorik as the song goes on, frontman/guitarist Nolan Krebs’ vocals awash in echoey layers of guitar: the Church gone way over the Milky Way. There’s so much reverb that the chord-chopping intensity of the trick ending becomes deceptively muted – the band are working much harder than it seems.

Likewise, Black Bolt is assembled around a popular paperbound Beatles riff, echoing and pulsing over drummer Joshua Korf’s scampering beat. Bronze Behavior, with its long, droning intro and low, looming ambience, is practically a dub version,guitarist/bassist Andrew Tamlyn moving to the front. Then the band picks up the pace again with Kingsday, a more concise variation on the theme. This band get an awful lot of mileage out of what’s mostly a one-chord jam.

Finally a new theme appears in the glittering, quickly pulsing Hochelaga, repeaterbox guitar in perfect sync with the skittish drums, a cheerily warped sunshine pop guitar melody chiming and then reaching for an unexpected majesty. With its resonant clang and echo over Ticket to Ride syncopation, Pearls has the feel of an outtake from the Church’s Blurred Crusade album. The closing cut, Seance – a nod to another 1980s Church album, maybe? –  brings the record full circle with its vast sweep, express-track groove and unexpected dynamic shifts. Crank this and drift away to a better place.

The Shelters Steal the Show in Williamsburg

Just when the Shelters really started to get cooking, they had to leave the stage. That’s the trouble with opening acts all too often. The Cali psychedelic pop band had just scampered through their one genuine cover of the night, a high-voltage version of the Yardbirds’ Lost Woman, bassist Jacob Pillot playing that big, rapidfire hook with a pick (rather than fingerpicking like Paul Samwell-Smith did on the original) and not missing a beat. They wound up their tantalizingly brief, stormy jam out with a wry Link Wray quote. And then they were gone. They deserved to headline their twinbill last night at Warsaw with Royal Blood, who were essentially doing karaoke, at least half of what they were “playing” stashed away in the mixing desk or on a laptop or wherever they hide pre-recorded tracks these days.

The Shelters are strong musicians and know their roots. Beatles? Check. Oasis? Doublecheck and triplecheck. Velvets? Sure. Post-Velvets? You bet. “Pretty good cover band,” one cynic in the crowd deadpanned. Frontman Chase Simpson alternated between a Les Paul and a Rickenbacker, proving as adept at Nashville gothic and garage-psych as he is with channeling George Harrison. Josh Jove pushed the tunes along with fiery rhythm guitar, playing a second Rick on a couple of the night’s jangliest numbers in tandem with Pillot and drummer Sebastian Harris. They got the Oasis/Blues Magoos mashups out of the way early, charmed the crowd with a clanging anthem that nicked the changes from Patti Smith’s Dancing Barefoot and then got a little retro Shakin’ All Over action going.

Interestingly, their best song was a hypnotically vamping, spacerock-infused midtempo number that sounded like vintage 90s Brian Jonestown Massacre. Then it was Yardbirds, over and out. Which was too bad. Realistically, there are easily a hundred bands in New York who might not be quite as tight but are infinitely edgier than the Shelters – lyrics are not their thing. On the other hand, it was impossible not to find it heartwarming to see so many kids (this was an all-ages show) among the very diverse, unpretentious crowd who’d come out for a midnight concert billed as an afterparty for a ridiculously overpriced, daylong corporate music festival staged on an island in the Hudson.

The official story is that Tom Petty saw the Shelters in some random bar and liked them so much that he ended up producing their debut album. On the other hand, it’s hardly unreasonable to believe that the record label simply rounded up four goodlooking guys who could really play, could write fluently in the styles of a whole bunch of popular bands from years gone by, and got Petty, a guy who truly appreciates this stuff, to helm the project. Whatever the case, it’s refreshing to see somebody putting some money behind a group with genuine talent and tunesmithing ability. The Shelters’/Royal Blood tour continues; the next stop with affordable tickets which isn’t sold out is on June 10 at 7 PM at Newport Music Hall, 1722 N High St in Columbus, Ohio. Then they’re at Bonnaroo the following day. 

The Sadies Bring Their Most Psychedelic Sounds Yet to the East Village

Americana fans need no introduction to Canadian quartet the Sadies, one of the world’s alltime great jangle bands. They’ve been around for about twenty years and they make fantastic albums. Their work with Neko Case is legendary. Their 2014 collaboration with Tragically Hip frontman Gord Downie, a grim detour into southwestern gothic, was every bit as good. Interestingly, their latest album, Northern Passages – streaming at Bandcamp – is their hardest-rocking and most psychedelic release. Which shouldn’t be a surprise to anybody who’s seen the band lately: they blasted through a cover of Iggy Pop’s I Wanna Be Your Dog at a recent Bowery Ballroom gig. They’re playing Webster Hall on May 11 at 8 PM; tix are $25. On one hand, there are additional acts on the bill, opening and closing the night. But, hey, these guys are great live, whatever the circumstances.

With organ swirling calmly over drummer Mike Belitsky’s subtle rimshot pulse, the album’s opening track, Riverview Fog, has a laid-back Blonde on Blonde feel that mutes the song’s brooding lyrics. Brothers Dallas and Travis Good match guitar fury on Another Season Again’s careening post-Velvets drive: if the Brian Jonestown Massacre had been more focused, they would have sounded something like this.

The group ramps up the energy even higher with There Are No Words, a blast of waltzing fuzztone psychedelia spiced with icepick twelve-string guitar. Kurt Vile laconically tackles the torrential, aphoristic lyrics of It’s Easy (Like Walking), part Neil Young stoner folk, part classic, uneasy, minor-key Sadies jangle and clang. The band puts a twin-guitar snarl and then tack a noisy, unhinged outro onto late 60s Carnaby Street Britpop in The Elements Song: “We carry on, carry on, we pretend that nothing’s wrong,” the brothers harmonize.

Through Strange Eyes scampers along in the same newschool psychedelic jangle vein as the Allah-Las, but with an electric bluegrass edge. Honkytonk guitars and fiddle imbue God Bless the Infidels with a Sweetheart of the Rodeo proto-outlaw country vibe. Then the band washes the bitterly elegaic folk-rock of The Good Years in icy reverb guitar. “She knew these things would come in threes, maybe in fours…he haunted her before he was dead,” the Goods intone. It’s the album’s darkest and best song.

As Above, So Below is part stoic Beatles, part soaring, twelve string-fueled Byrds, a rich web of intertwining leads. Questions I Never Asked is the band at their most bittersweetly jangly and gorgeous, building out of glistening clang and twang to a roaring coda. That the album’s concluding instrumental, The Noise Museum, would be just as strong as the other tracks speaks to how memorably uneasy these songs are. Has there been an album this tuneful and guitarishly rich released in the last six months? Probably not.