Mar 24, 2018
Whatever caused that record to fizzle like a sparkler instead of exploding like a brick of M-80's has been fixed here. "Mission Control" blasts straight off the earth like a rocket built from a million Harley Panhead motors and straight to into a black smoked galaxy. It lands on a planet inhabited by psychomotor stimulanted space critters who are building a race of Black Sabbath/Helios Creed supermonsters. Upon meeting the crew though, the planet bows to their feet for already achieving the plan.
Like Godzilla sleeping in a frozen underwater world who is then angrily awoken forced to come to the surface again, "Unified" starts like it is shaded with dark hues of blue and green before making a ruckus and turning the whole city a flaming red. It's a quiet, loud, quiet, loud thing but it doesn't sound like it was lifted from the Scorpions "No One Like You" or whatever Pixies song Nirvana got the idea from. It's more like they watched a chain of electrical grid burst a series of blinding light and took it from there.
On the flipside, "Ipso Facto Alcohol" it's like they're trying to figure out jazz math but decide it's just too brain-wracking. The result of a stumbly creepy crawl through the land of the Magic Band where they meet a creature feature movie host with a deep penchant for quaaludes.
By the time the record makes re-entry to this world with a sizzled sonic boom and the infinite echo of "Lobotomize The Cops" you brain and eardrums may have already been destroyed by an asteroid.
When this record arrived in my mailbox, the envelope was shrinkwrapped in plastic. The mailer had a bunch of wet stains all over it. I'd like to think that the band soaked it in marijuana tincture and it was not just a foul up from the USPS.
Get fried here
Apr 2, 2015
Taking up the entire A-side of of this 12inch EP is the 11+ minute "Cokesmoker." The song rolls in like bad weather. Squalls of biker rock wah-wah guitar glissade over a coarse rhythmic throb while voices, sometimes resembling a bad drug Nick Gilder and at others a smashed mumble, intone ominous thoughts. Feedback piles up building a thick wall of psychedelic caterwaul that is not a a bunch of swirly colors but a bright, blinding white light that guides the spaceship which starts starts honing in for a place to land toward the tail end of the song.
On the flip, "Out Of Design" pumps like the beat of the heart mic'd and run through a bit of gain. Sounds resembling snippets of bluesy guitar twang and ghostly voices promenade to the tension. "Dark Afternoon" gurgles and blurts like things left on the Silver Apples cutting room floor being reassembled randomly.The weird trip ends where it started with a reprise of side one's maelstrom.
No need to warn anyone about not operating this under heavy equipment as it IS the heavy equipment.