New York Music Daily

No New Abnormal

Tag: psychedelic music

Wildly Cinematic, Halloweenish Glam Psychedelia From the Andretti

There’s always plenty of room for over-the-top grand guignol during this blog’s annual October-long Halloween celebration, and this year is no exception. Multi-instrumentalist Joe Ferrara’s project The Andretti has a new album, Suicide Italian Style, streaming at Bandcamp. It’s one of those rare records that’s so all-over-the-place stylistically that there’s nothing else like it. David Bowie is the obvious and pervasive influence. It’s very dark, just as psychedelic, politically woke and about as subtle as Bill Gates’ needle of death – here, have a shot of cancer-causing polyurethane while we pretend to vaccinate you against a virus that doesn’t even exist anymore. But it’s a lot of fun – the album that is.

Ferrara plays pretty much everything on this epically orchestral collection, except the drums  – that’s Blake Fleming behind the kit – and the brass instruments. The first track, Il Pavone D’oro is a math-y romp with growly, trebly bass, trickily shapeshifting meters, tremoloing reverb guitar, evilly twinkling keys and echoey, Bowie-esque vocals.

With its layers of creepy keys, Equinox at Cefalù could be Morricone Youth, or a particularly dark theme from Manfred Hubler’s Vampyros Lesbos soundtrack. The next cut, Marquis De Sade’s Rockin’ NYE is phantasmagorical circus rock as Bowie might have done it. 

The album’s title track is a colorful, cinematic mashup of horror surf, stalker flick theme, Bowie and math-rock. The Bowie-esque – that guy again – anthem DigitalEvil has a knowing gravitas, a word of warning about lockdown-era tech Nazi snooping, and a surf rock ending. Tim Ouimette’s trumpet and Rick Kriska’s sax and flute add flair in the distance.

The Man Who Never Was is another big Bowie-esque stadium-rock ballad about a guy whose life has made him “invisible and unkind.” The Soft Side of Hell has a ba-bump noir cabaret swing, an elegy for the outsiders who’ve been persecuted by tyrants throughout history – but as Ferrara reminds, all of the greatest minds  have been heretics.

If Bowie had been a connoissseur of surf rock, he would have written New Jersey Jailbreak – maybe with a itttle help from Ennio Morricone and the early BeeGees. After that, he revisits the gritty math of the opening track with A Dismal Method.

The album’s best track is the defiant outsider anthem Palace Depression:

Mark me at ground zero
We’ll bloody well see who wins
In a world of boring madmen
Nobody goes unscathed
But your love of suffering
Doesn’t prove your are depraved
It only proves you are not brave

The instrumental See Naples and Die veers from smoky atmospherics to menacing psychedelia, surf rock and back. The album winds up with A Seedy Type of Gravity, a phantasmagorical blend of Bowie, Spanish bolero, surf rock and psychedelia rock. You just might see this on the best albums of 2020 page at the end of the year.

What Would Halloween Month Be Without Blue Oyster Cult?

How ironic that a band as obsessed with death as Blue Oyster Cult would be around forty-five years after they started. After doing insane amounts of drugs.

OK, the group that took the stage at at the Stone Free Festival in London on June 17, 2017 only included two original members, frontman/guitarist Eric Bloom and lead player Buck Dharma. But the ringers – guitarist/keyboardist Richie Castellano, bassist Danny Miranda and drummer Jules Radino – held up their end, playing iconic material, blurring the line between psychedelia, metal and art-rock. They began by playing the group’s immortally cynical first album in its entirety and ended with a handful of hits and concert favorites. Serendipitously, that show was recorded and has been released as 45th Anniversary – Live In London, streaming at Spotify.

There’s more grit on the bass, less headbanging from the drums on the opening number, Transmaniacon MC, but in parts of six decades onstage, Dharma has not lost a step. This version reminds of the slinky Radio Birdman cover from the mid-70s.

I’m on the Lamb, But I Ain’t No Sheep – an anthem for the unmasked these days, huh? – has fun phased guitars and catchy double-axe riffage. They follow with a fast, trippy, eleven-minute take of Then Came the Last Days of May, a cruel, gorgeously bluesy tale of a weed deal gone horribly wrong which gets a long doublespeed outro with Dharma going full tilt. Amazing what you can do with a four-chord descending progression from C minor.

The band hit the stoner boogie Stairway to the Stars harder: it’s less subtly macabre than the album version. Hell, any resemblance to a classic album version is welcome at this point, and Dharma’s icy chorus-pedal work is a treasure. Before the Kiss, a Redcap – the alltime great rock tribute to butyl nitrate – also comes across as more of a loud Steely Dan boogie.

Bloom is in unexpectedly strong voice through the propulsive noir art-rock anthem Screams. She’s As Beautiful As a Foot, notwithstanding the gruesome lyrics, comes across as more of an Indian-influenced psych-pop song. Cities on Flame with Rock And Roll draws muted audience response as a leaden riff-rock prototype for Godzilla, which the band slog through later.

The first album’s best song, Workshop of the Telescopes, has a raggedly phantasmagorical glory, even if the band don’t take it as far outside as the original lineup would. From there they reinvent southern rock as goth horror in Redeemed, give Dharma a long launching pad for his signature boogie, and turn in a serviceable version of the big teen-suicide anthem best covered by Bobtown.

They end the show with inspired versions of Tattoo Vampire, an icy 80s-fueled step above generic riff-rock and then a sleek take of the chugging classic Hot Rails to Hell. Wouldn’t it be cool if a hundred years from now, some Blue Oyster Cult cover band decided to play this same set. The people you love can burn your eyes out.

Magical, Otherworldly Korean Improvisation From Baum Sae

Some of the world’s most fascinating and strange music has been coming out of Korea lately. Upstart record label Mung Music are fixated on bringing some of these amazing sounds to a broader audience, not only digitally but also on limited edition cassette and 10” vinyl with original artwork. Perhaps the most individualistic and fascinating of the initial crop of releases is the new ep, Embrace, by Baum Sae (Korean for “Night Birds”), streaming at Bandcamp. Imagine Morphine at their most stark and surreal, with a woman out front singing in Korean: and that’s only a small part of the picture.

The offbeat cicada-like exchanges between pansori singer Borim Kim and geomungo bass lute player Gina Hwang in the first song, 여름 (Summer) reflect the lyric’s pastoral melancholy. The melody strongly evokes Moroccan gnawa music, at least until Kim goes up the scale toward melismatic drama.

The second number, 화 (Anger) is a duet between Kim and drummer Soojin Suh. It’s shorter but much more dramatic and closer to traditional pansori, recounting the execution of a brave individual who dared secondguess a bellicose Chinese emperor. The final cut, 가느다란 선 (Thin Line) slowly and spaciously rises from Suh’s temple bells and Hwang’s suspenseful geomungo, through rather brooding variations on a traditional work song from the Jeju Islands. For all its shadowy ambience, those basslines are catchy!

You will be hearing more here about several other artists on the label in the near future.

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.

A Richly Detailed, Psychedelic Layer Cake From Polish Rockers the White Kites

The White Kites‘ previous album Missing was a mix of spot-on 60s and 70s art-rock and psychedelia. Their latest release, Devillusion – streaming at Bandcamp – has more of a 70s vibe. David Bowie is the obvious reference point, with echoes of the Beatles, ELO and even Jethro Tull as well as artsy 90s bands like Pulp. The group’s playful sense of humor often masks a dark undercurrent. This is a long record, fourteen tracks of catchy, purist tunesmithing, outside-the-box sonics and strange interludes, best appreciated as a cohesive whole.

They open the album with Spinning Lizzie, a Bowie-esque take on funk, the guitars of Przemek Piłaciński and Bartek Woźniak flaring over the squiggles of Jakub Lenarczyk’s keys and bassist Marysia Białota’s overdubbed combo organ. Frontman Sean Palmer delivers a deadpan account of an increasingly thorny acid trip in the second track, Rather Odd over Lenarczyk’s stately piano and organ swirls

With its ba-bump noir cabaret phantasmagoria, Not a Brownie is just as surreal, especially with the spacy breakdown in the middle. Paweł Betley’s flute flits over drummer Jakub Tolak’s steady Penny Lane beat throughout the cheery Warsaw Summer. Frozen Heartland could be ELO in a particularly lush, wistful moment, circa 1977: “Come back!” is the mantra.

Rising from a blippy bounce to far more serious, Dragon is a knowing parable about the kind of big, unexpected payoff that you might encounter if you keep your mind open. The band go back to a carnivalesque pulse for the album’s fleeting title track, then blend pouncing Bowie rock with crazed atmospherics in Viral Spiral.

Białota’s Rhodes mingles uneasily with the simmering guitars in Blurred, a portrait of a superman which may have sarcastic political subtext. Ola Bilińska sings the miniature Mysteries in the Sky over a twinkling backdrop of electric piano and lush acoustic guitars. Then the band pick up the pace with QRMA, shifting between watery chorus-box-driven late Beatles and skittish glamrock.

Palmer intones an eco-disaster warning over a deep-space soundscape in Goodbye Gaia. Mother Mars is a logical segue, a broodingly waltzing art-rock anthem: if the White Kites got it right, we’re looking at Life on Mars, or bust. They wind up the album with the slow, immersive, guardedly hopeful ballad Fallen Star. The level of craft and subtle detail on this album is even more amazing considering how rock albums are made these days – and how few of them have been released this year.

A Psychedelic New Korean Rock Record From the Colorful, Eclectic Coreyah

Coreyah doesn’t mean “Korea” in Korean. It translates as either “inheritance” or “whale.”  The shapeshifting Korean psychedelic art-folk band consider that mammal their spirit animal. Their 2016 North American debut performance earned a rave review here; their long-awaited new album, Clap and Applause is streaming at youtube.

The band have had some turnover in the time since that rapturous New York show, but they haven’t lost their surreal sense of humor. They open with Baksurori, a mutedly pulsing, shamanic folk melody anchored by guitarist Ko Jaehyeo’s reverb-drenched staccato in tandem with the pulse of percussionist Kim Chorong and drummer Kyungyi. Frontwoman Ham Boyoung sings in her native tongue, warmly and calmly. Na Sunjin plays spare, warpy tones on her geomungo bass lute, Kim Dongkun’s wood flute finally wafting into the mix. They slowly pick up the pace in the long jam afterward, but only hints at the crazy mix of sounds they’ll play later on. The narrative concerns an escape from the political turmoil on the streets outside for the comfort of a big party

For the sake of consistency, the song titles here are English translations, as are the quotes from song lyrics. The second track, How Far You’ve Come is a mashup of chicken-scratch funk and what sounds like Colombian parranda music, with slyly amusing solos from geomungo and flute, and coy vocal exchanges between the women and the guys in the band. It’s a traveler’s tale: “How far have you come?” is the recurrent question.

Dawn is a trippy, slashing rock tune set to a staggered 5/4 beat, a snakecharmer flute solo at the center. When the Sun Rises turns on a dime between Pink Floyd guitar roar, delicately swooping geomungo and fluttering flute. It’s a daily grind scenario:

I’m just minding
Yesterday’s business today
Today’s business tomorrow
And on and on until it’s time
To take a little rest

It seems that pretty much everybody in the band takes a turn on lead vocals in the jauntily strutting Big Things, which has has a suspiciously satirical cheeriness. Competition can be a bitch, whether it’s personal or business! 

The group mash up slinky wah guitar psychedelia, ancient Korean folk themes and a relentless dancefloor thud in Escape. It’s the key to the album: “If I ever come back, cheer for me please, just one more time,” Boyoung insists over a tempestuous hwimori beat.

Tongue-in-cheek chirps from the flute contrast with the muted backdrop of Yellow Flower, a mostly-acoustic spacerock duet, Boyoung determined to revisit a fleeting moment of rapt beauty. It’s the band’s Can’t Get It Out of My Head.

Bygone Days is a wistful vintage Memphis soul-tinged ballad, with delicate accents from geomungo and flute. The album’s final and most epic cut is Good Dreams, an enveloping lullaby spiced with spare geomungo riffage, rising to a big,  Gilmouresque guitar solo. The world needs more bands who are this much fun and willing to take chances.

Soundwalk Collective and Patti Smith Salute an Influential, Psychedelic French Author

Over a triptych of albums, Soundwalk Collective and Patti Smith have explored the work of three defiantly individualistic French writers: Antonin Artaud, Arthur Rimbaud, and now, René Daumal. The primary inspiration for the collaboration’s latest and concluding chapter, Peradam – streaming at Bandcamp – is Daumal’s final, unfinished 1944 surrealist work Mount Analogue: a Novel of Symbolically Authentic Non-Euclidean Adventures in Mountain Climbing. The album title references the philosopher’s stone in Daumal’s narrative, which is visible only to the truly enlightened.

In keeping with the rest of the records, this one features both found sounds and musical performances. Septuagenarian Sherpa Dhan Singh Rana sings the opening number, Nanda Devi a-cappella in his native vernacular over sounds of wind off the Himalayan mountain. Smith narrates the title track over Tenzin Choegyal‘s singing bowls and spare, hypnotically loopy percussion. “The gateway to the invisible must be visible; the gateway to the visible must be invisible,” she observes.

Knowledge of the Self features Anoushka Shankar’s lingering sitar: she has a distant connection to Daumal, as he went on American tour with her uncle, dancer Uday Shankar. “Your fondest theories vanish before the wall of appearances, that veil of colored shapes, sounds…this is where you started, but you chose the wrong door, instead you fell asleep at the threshold and dreamed your beliefs about the world ” Smith intones in Spiritual Death, a gnomic, Gurdjieff-like challenge to seek enlightenment.

Charlotte Gainsbourg half-whispers The Four Cardinal Times in Daumal’s original French over jungly nocturnal sounds and atmospheric keys from either the group’s Stephan Crasneanscki or Simone Merli. Smith offers an English translation of this shaman in action, which continues with greater detail over temple bells in Hymn to the Liquid.

Anoushka Shankar returns for Vera, a strangely murky tableau. Smith’s poem The Rat, an eco-disaster parable, closes the album over ambient samples and a bassy thud. This album doesn’t have the chilling intensity of the ensemble’s previous Rimbaud tribute; then again, it wasn’t meant to.

Thoughtful, Attractively Enveloping Nocturnes From Swimming Bell

Swimming Bell play slow, pensively lingering, atmospheric songs that draw equally on Americana and ambient music. Their new album Wild Sight – streaming at Bandcamp – brings to mind Neko Case or Tift Merritt as produced by Brian Eno, maybe. Washes of pedal steel and vocal harmonies figure prominently in frontwoman Katie Schottland’s songs. Her narratives are subtle, full of small, allusively telling details: they invite you in for repeated listening.

Good Time, Man begins as a hazy, atmospheric, wistful summertime tableau awash in Oli Deacon’s pedal steel. By the time Schottland’s intricate, fingerpicked acoustic guitar kicks in, it’s clear that this is a breakup scenario.

Deliciously icy tremolo guitars clang and ring out over a slow, swaying 6/8 groove in 1988, unraveling into a starry dreampop mist at the end: it seems to be a sad childhood reminiscence.  The pedal steel returns along with tasty, looming bass clarinet in For Brinsley, a Brinsley Schwarz homage: “Don’t lose your grip on love,” is the mantra.

“She’d lost the medal but she’d won the fight,” Schottland recalls in We’d Find, the enveloping sonics coalescing into an indian summer haze. Cold Clear Moon, a Tomo Nakayama cover, is catchy, steady and spare, the acoustic and electric guitar textures, glockenspiel and contrapuntal vocals building a hypnotic interweave.

The band follow Wolf, an echoey, circling vignette, with Got Things, a glistening anthem and the album’s catchiest, most straight-up rock number: it wouldn’t be out of place in the Rose Thomas Bannister catalog.

Left Hand Path is a front-porch folk tune with delicate electronics and steel twinkling in the distance. Schottland launches into Love Liked You slowly over National steel guitar, the band methodically rising into a slow, crescendoing, Hem-like sway: the swirly atmospherics are the icing on the cake. The album ends with Quietly Calling, a lush, crepuscular waltz that could be the Grateful Dead in a sharply focused moment: “You were listening to prove that you could while I was trying to be good,” Schottland intones. What a refreshing and individualistic sound: let’s hope Swimming Bell figure out how to make another album like this, clandestinely or otherwise.

Allstar Jazz Crew the Analog Players Society Slink Into Psychedelic Territory

The Analog Players Society live up their name in a way: they definitely are players. Check out this lineup: Donny McCaslin on tenor sax, Orrin Evans on piano, Dezron Douglas and Ben Rubin splitting the bass duties and Eric McPherson on drums. With officially sanctioned gigs hard to find outside of Sweden, they’ve joined the brave few making new records these days. Their three-song ep Tilted – streaming at Bandcamp – is the first in a planned two-part series and it’s actually like nothing you would expect from this an allstar cast. Is this lounge music? Psychedelia? Trip-hop? Acid jazz? Postbop? All of the above – and it’s not totally analog either.

They open it with a twelve-minute version of Jobim’s One Note Samba. McCaslin starts out airy and wary over Evans’ judiciously expanding modalities, then brings his echo pedal into the mix while McPherson introduces some slinky funk. They bring it down to a mutedly dancing, hypnotic bass solo while McPherson edges into trip-hop, Evans suddenly breaking the mesmeric mood with tinkling phantasmagoria. One of those “this is why we love jazz” moments.

Evans opens the second number, a wry reinvention titled Epistrophe, on toy piano, as McPherson more or less loops a New Orleans funk riff. McCaslin figures out echo effects both analog and digital over the circular groove. Evans’ restraint and commitment to keeping the mood going with just a handful of sudden “are you awake” riffs is pretty amazing for a guy with his chops. Taking Monk tunes apart and reducing them to most basic terms is fun!   

For now, the final cut is Freedom is But a Fraction of Humanity, the quartet fading up into misterioso, triangulated piano/bass/drums polyrhythms before McCaslin expands beyond uneasy loopiness, only to back away for Evans’ darkly glittery cascades. Everything coalesces over a spring-loaded, rumbling groove: then everybody backs down for a whispery bass solo as McPherson finds the clave with his woodblock and Evans pedals his upper-register chords. This is a very fun and often very funny album.

Revisiting One of the Zeros’ Defining Bedroom Albums

Today is all about zeros nostalgia. Since nostalgia is the enemy of history, let’s put this in historical context. Goldfrapp’s third album Supernature came out in 2005. There wasn’t much to celebrate that year, globally speaking. The Bush regime was dropping thousands of tons of depleted uranium on Iraq, killing hundreds of thousands of civilians and dooming generations to a plague of birth defects. Harvard sophomore Mark Zuckerberg was scheming up ways to turn his campus photoblogging service into the world’s most dangerous surveillance system. But at least Napster was still going strong, opening up a world of music that millions around the world never would have discovered otherwise.

To commemorate the fifteenth anniversary of the album’s initial release, it’s been remastered and reissued on green gatefold vinyl, and you can hear it at Spotify. Throughout the record, singer Alison Goldfrapp’s breathy vocals have been left as sultry as they were on the original release, although Will Gregory’s many layers of simple, catchy, playfully psychedelic keys seem more balanced, less dancefloor-oriented than on the cd.

Revisiting the album, the influence of early 80s new wave acts like Missing Persons, Yaz and early Madonna is more vivid than ever. And the songs are a trip, from Ride a White Horse, the duo’s thinly veiled ecstasy anthem, to Number 1, the motorik New Order ripoff that closes the record. In between, the duo’s frontwoman shows off her upper registers in You Never Know (a song that would be autotuned if it was released by a corporate label in 2020), descends to a seductive whisper in the loopy Let It Take You and purrs over the catchy synth bass in Fly Me Away.

Who can forget the cheery, completely deadpan Slide In? If you were around back then, maybe you slid in or smoked up to the woozy, P-Funkesque textures of Coco, the pogo-sticking Satin Chic or the drifty, oscillating Time Out From the World. In the time since, the two have stayed together – and why wouldn’t they? Their New York shows over the past several years have gotten more and more stratospherically expensive.

The album gets extra points for its effectiveness as a weapon to get noisy neighbors to shut up. Played on a sufficiently powerful system, those icy, bassy electronic beats really cut through the the walls and ceiling.