Jan 24, 2016

FOGG "Pinko" Digital LP

     Earlier offerings from Fort Worth, Texas band Fogg doomed down like Black Sabbath, hashish brownie boogied like Foghat, cruised around town like like they were driving an El Camino built by Sir Lord Baltimore and, to make sure that they'd keep the hippies that "just want to get mellow, man" at bay, rubbed themselves in the sickly foul matter of Black Flag's My War while making unfriendly faces.
     Those things along with cannabis and jugs of California table wine seemed to be their diet of earthly delights and kept them fed. Pinko though sounds like they've embarked on a foraging adventure to regions beyond the voids of this planet to find things that go with expand their subsisting regiment. While the band has been no stranger to grooving things past six and to almost ten minutes from time to time in the past, there was always a template of straight up thing that, for the sake of not splitting to many (long) hairs, that's hard rock. The shortest of the three jams on this go round, the close to eight minute "Puff", begins by blasting asteroids with laser guided fuzz guns before drifting in some heavy atmosphere where dayglo imps thrive on oxygen that's been enriched by the Devil's lettuce.
     The album's opener, the eleven minute "Wand II", with it's mélange of quasi-exotica, guitars conveying the feeling of squishy fungus, electrofied appropriations of flutes mimicking bird calls and freak jazz making a landing on some distant planet, it's like Sun Ra and his Astro Intergalactic Infinity Arkestra taking the listener on a tour of Martin Denny's Quiet Village. It's only a quiet at that moment though because the dragons are sleeping. They awaken when they smell the fresh meat wandering about and then the chase is on.
     The sprawling "Mother Earth's Toe Jam" spins itself dizzy to several Amon Düül II albums at once in a cabbage field. It results in the largest mountain of the sourest kraut (rock) around. They feed it to the unclaimed children of Phallus Dei after they located them living at an abandoned drive in movie theater. The band then sticks around to watch scratchy and washed out art flicks edited down and repackaged as 8mm stag film loops of Uschi Obermaier boobs with them til dawn.
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