Posted in Questionnaire on October 24th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Berto Cáceres of Spinda Records
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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
I basically make people aware of the music that other people do – as simple as that! Sometimes by releasing an EP or an album and trying to get them in as many shops as possible; sometimes by booking gigs; sometimes by knocking on media’s doors and being a pain in the ass asking them to review such and such, to interview this or that band; but always being very persistent – that’s the key!
Spinda Records started ‘cause of two reasons: I used to have a 9-5 day job in a marketing department in a completely different industry, but then I became a father of two and my priorities drastically changed, so I wanted something that I could do at home and see my little ones more than usual. Music had always been something very important in my life, so I felt the need of give it back something in return. And running a DIY label from my basement seemed like a good idea as I could be helping local bands to put out their music whilst being at home and see how my two girls were growing.
Describe your first musical memory.
Well, music was always there, since I was very little. I perfectly remember my mum singing Tom Jones and Nino Bravo (a Spanish singer from the 70s) or me joining her while singing the soundtrack of the film ‘Seven Brides for Seven Brothers’. Then there was my older brother who used to lock himself in the loo with the acoustic guitar to play 80s Spanish pop music. I never understood at the time why he had to do that, but it is obvious that he was trying to get some natural reverb.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
This is pretty much impossible as there are so many. I will mention just a few…
The Summer of 96 when my life changed forever thanks to the older brothers of my friends, who shared with us dozens of mix tapes with many bands from the Seattle scene, britpop, German power metal, California punk rock and melodic hardcore, Spanish ’90s rock and hip-hop. My friends and I spent the whole Summer in my dad’s garage listening to those cassettes on the boombox, learning the lyrics and taking the decision of growing our hair as our new idols.
Then it was a mind-blowing experience when in 2007 I had the chance to see Héroes del Silencio live in a venue for an audience of 75k people. They were my favourite band by that time, they split up in ’96 and they were back 11 years later for just a bunch of gigs in different countries. I cried a lot that night.
Another good one took place in January 2018, when I got in my hands the second reference of Spinda Records, although the first one to arrive. It was ‘Slowgod II’ by Spanish stoner-doom band Grajo. The feeling was like ten times better than when I was going to my local retail shop to buy records.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
About a decade ago, when I realised that friends won’t be there forever. They come and go, as I do too. The key thing is to try to get the most out of those moments that friendship brings to your life. It’s simply about enjoying the moment. If it last, it’s amazing, but don’t get disappointed if it doesn’t.
How do you define success?
It depends on the context, but regarding running the label, I would say that success happens when you take a band, there is a great relationship with their members, establish some goals and work hard together to reach them. Then if you manage to finish the month with good numbers it’s even better, ‘cause that means that you can continue another month doing what you love.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
When I was attending to a very famous festival in Spain and an aerial dancer fell to his death. I was there, about 10 meters away from him, and the situation was difficult; one of those moments you never forget.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
This is about dreaming, right? I’d love to start a Music Center in my hometown, including a record shop, some rehearsal rooms, an analog recording studio, a small live music venue, and some space for me to keep running Spinda Records and having my own vinyl pressing plant. I live in a corner of Spain where nothing of this exists so it would be awesome. Anyone interested?
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
Art is about expressing yourself with your own language, and feeling.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
To keep road-trippin’ the world with my family. That would mean that we’ll get to know many different cultures and their people, living experiences together and having lot of time to speak to each-other on the road – and life is all about having quality time with your loved ones, no matter if it’s on the road, in a gig, when playing table games or while walking down the street on your way to the supermarket.
This Friday, Oct. 20, marks the release of the third Bismut album, Ausdauer (premiere streaming above). A five-tracker being issued through Lay Bare Recordings in the band’s native Netherlands and Spinda Records in Spain, its title translates as ‘endurance’ and in that could be speaking to any number of subjects, from the instrumentalist trio of guitarist Nik Linders, bassist Huibert der Weduwen and drummer Peter Dragt having done the recordings themselves, live, which surely requires more than a bit of stamina, to processing the years since 2020’s Retrocausality (review here), to the war in Europe, now spread to Israel and Palestine. Surely there are no shortage of hardships and tasks and slogs to endure, but from the slow swing in the finishing moments of “Mendalir” through the shoving insistence of closer “Euphoria,” Bismut find places for themselves between ideas of structured heavy rock and more open, at least partially improvised rock-as-jazz jamming, between crunch and stretch, atmosphere and impact.
Retrocausality and their 2018 debut, Schwerpunkt (review here), functioned along similar lines, and a return from esteemed engineer Pieter Kloos (7Zuma7, 35007, The Devil’s Blood, so many more) on mixing and mastering further assures sonic consistency, but while Bismut highlight a sun-reflecting shimmer in the early soloing of “Mendalir” — the first of many of Linders‘ leads that feels exploratory on solid footing — something they’ve never done is to forget about their audience. The live experience — sorry to say I haven’t seen the band — may be central to what Bismut do generally, not the least since they record that way, but they’re still writing songs. Ausdauer isn’t a collection of jams. “Mendalir” coalesces around a riff out of progressive metal delivered with all due force, and moves fleetly through its turn-laced midsection into its final roll and comedown with a sense of plot that makes it that much easier to follow, the opening of “Fuan” — also the shortest cut at 5:55 — sounding like a raw noise rock riff from 1994, because of course.
There are some spacey effects worked in, but “Fuan” builds itself around a grounded-feeling procession that comes to a maddeningly tense head at about the halfway mark before unfolding itself again ahead of a dreamier-echoing solo and a clear turn to improv and percussion from which they make a smooth return a short while later. Effects top a chugging finish like something later Karma to Burn might’ve called an indulgence (it’s not, really) and momentum carries into centerpiece “Despotisme” with a swagger that seems to know what’s coming when the full tonality of the riff kicks in, which is a for-the-stage bounce soon met by an adventure into solo-topped tripping, chug and build and shred and go all sort of slamming together and the math somehow working. Again, the shift from structure to not is discernible — or at least one can be interpreted — but it’s the later ambience/drone of “Despotisme” complementing that relative rush that is affecting, a final note held out perhaps in consideration for the liberal order as the band reinforce the atmospheric thread that’s been subtly woven through Ausdauer from the progressively brooding opening moments of “Mendalir” onward.
Its last echoes fading, “Despotisme” gives over to Dragt‘s drums to start “Mašta,” cycling through a riff with off-the-cuff-sounding flourish before winding through a tense ‘verse’ that even when the guitar disappears holds its anxiety in the low end before they dig into head-down jazzy runs, never actually holding still or even coming close to it, but bringing the song down to near-silence before they gradually raise the volume, coming back up at around six minutes in and hitting decisively into a heavier thrust of riff with the snare punctuating, bass rumbling and guitar spacious in the lead as the bass does some of the melodic work in its place. Stylistically, “Mašta” might be post-post-rock because it’s actually willing to have fun, but its psychedelia is earthly however broad the guitar tone might be, and between that and the organic chemistry of the rhythm section — der Weduwen and Dragt also double in DUNDDW; and indeed, if you had a heavy instrumental psych band, you might want them in it as well — Bismut set up their bookending finale to burst to life over the end of “”Mašta,” an immediate mathiness twisting about 45 seconds in to denser riffing recalling earlier Karma to Burn-ism without actually beings so religiously straightforward.
To wit, “Euphoria” funks out at around 1:30 before returning to its bouncing starts and stops, then moves into a wash of noise before a grand mellowing moves past the halfway mark with quiet brooding in the bass and sparse guitar. You know they’re going to bring it back around. Bismut know they’re going to bring it around. But before they do, the band put themselves in conversation with the likes of early ’00s European instrumentalists and adventurers, Dutch outfits like the already-noted (if parenthetically) 35007 or Astrosoniq, or even Monkey3 from Switzerland; bands whose tenures are marked by a distinctive growth along a charted course. With the caveat of living in a universe of infinite possibility, one would not expect Bismut after Ausdauer to go thrash metal after Ausdauer, but where they reside between heavy rock, jamming, heavy psych and prog, there is plenty of room for them to continue to grow and explore as they’re plainly committed to doing or they wouldn’t improvise at all, let alone on the finished product of an album.
After twisting itself in various sailing knots for the better part of its nine minutes — “Mendalir” (8:59) and “Euphoria” (9:09) bookend as the two longest songs — “Euphoria” caps with a predictable-but-satisfying stop that feels like it’s underlining the purpose behind so much of the material before it, emphasizing the natural meld between songwriting and instrumentalist conversation in their sound and the way Bismut are able to pull the different sides together in a malleable, engaging blend. Whether one might lose oneself in the fluidity of their play, nod to the riffs as they roll by, dwell in its open spaces or grit teeth in its builds, Ausdauer accounts for a range of experiences and, in part through its scope, serves as a defining effort on the part of Bismut to-date. They don’t sound like they’re done finding new reaches and/or refining their approach, but in terms of methodology, they have very obviously learned from their first two LPs and put those lessons to use here.
Posted in audiObelisk on October 9th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
This Wednesday, Oct. 11, The Silver Linings will release their debut album, Pink Fish (review here), through Spinda Records. Classic space rock abounds on the Andalusian five-piece’s seven-songer, and the simple answer is that’s why I’m streaming it. Yeah, I did the earlier premiere linked above, but some records should be heard in their entirety, and with the particular shimmering pastoralia that seems to be a regional specialty for a number of acts — the PR wire lists some of them below; Híbrido, Plastic Woods, Santo Rostro, etc. — the band conjures a malleable balance of styles that spans generations of lysergic and progressive influences. And then you get to the fuzz. Why am I streaming this record? Friggin’ listen to it and find out.
I had never been to the Iberian Peninsula at all until this past August — which given my age feels like neglect — and I hope to go back at some point, but while I was in Portugal for this year’s SonicBlast Fest, I met Berto Cáceres, who heads Spinda Records based in Andalucía, and in a longer, sit-down, face-and-voice-to-name conversation, he told me about how in the early ’70s in Spain, that area, which is the gateway from Europe to Africa and vice versa, was how Spain got both its records and its weed while living under dictatorship (it’s kind of incredible how much of 20th century Spanish politics was defined by Franco), and so became a place of openness and art and creativity even when living under state oppression. Not quite a rebellion, maybe, but a little one. A good historical narrative, if nothing else.
And surely, the legacy of that progressive creativity is what we’re hearing in “Cosmic Excursions” or the tambourine-shaking and wailing guitar solo plus keys of “Heart Full of Gold,” but if The Silver Linings are showing themselves as part of the lineage described above, then inherent to that is a sense of looking beyond the confines of one’s own time and place. Past and future intertwine in a liquefied aural presence, the sound sending notes and melodies into an open expanse in “In the Fleeting Hand of Time” as it builds on the otherworldly propositions of “A Pleasant Trip into the Unknown,” begun with a sample of then-US President Ronald Reagan talking about aliens uniting the planet — one of a very select few things about which he was correct — before the band take off on a jaunt of trippy boogie that will land them in the quirk of “Pink Fish” before “Patient M” pulls back to more solidified ground, the guitar practically begging early on for the saxophone that joins soon enough.
One could go on — perpetually, it seems; dude, shut up — about the nuances in The Silver Linings‘ approach, the twists that Pink Fish presents over the course of its 37 minutes, but, well, I already did that, and how many huge block paragraphs do you really need at the start of what I’m sure will be a busy week? Let’s wrap it up, hmm?
The Silver Linings aren’t a revolution in psych on their first record, and they aren’t trying to be. What they do is to encompass a broad range of influences from ’60s garage and ’70s and ’80s prog with Andalusian folk, heavy, and modern neo-psych elements. A heady brew, and a potent one if you’re willing to be swept along by the album, which for a debut is awfully easy to follow on its path. Again, you can hear for yourself. I say, give it a shot. Worst case scenario, you quit your job and decide to wander the earth as a mushroom-snarfing wizard muttering existentialisms to yourself for the rest of your days. Also that’s the best case scenario.
Formed in Malaga in 2021, The Silver Linings self-released their debut EP ‘TSL’ in May 2023. Just a few days later they signed with the indie label Spinda Records (Moura, Fin del Mundo, Moundrag, Maragda) and returned to the studio to record some additional songs. The result is ‘Pink Fish’, a first full-length that is now available on main streaming services and physical formats.
After telling us the story of the “Patient M” and taking us to the deep space with “Cosmic excursions” in September, Málaga-based quintet The Silver Linings have just released ‘Pink Fish’. This debut album will delight fans of genres such as psychedelia, acid rock, space rock or kraut; and immediately places them within the new wave of Andalusian psychedelia, along with bands like Híbrido, Lunavieja, Medicina, Plastic Woods, Santo Rostro, Mia Turbia, Se permiten submarinos, DMBK or Gu Vo.
In this debut album, The Silver Linings are highly influenced by 20th century sci-fi, Moorcock’s literature, Moebius’ illustrations, Tarkovsky’s cinema, Jodorovsky’s work and the poetry of the beat generation; in addition to natural landscapes of Andalusia such as El Torcal in Antequera, the Gorafe desert, the dunes of Bolonia and the Strait of Gibraltar.
Recorded, mixed and mastered at Hollers Analog Studio, and with an artwork by Antonio Ramírez (Viaje a 800, Atavismo, Medicina, Bourbon), ‘Pink Fish’ is now available as part of Spinda Records ‘The Trippy Series’ on the following formats:
▪ Digital ▪ 150x Compact Disc (digisleeve) ▪ 150x Black Vinyl (hand-numbered; includes digital download) ▪ 150x Clear Orange Vinyl (hand-numbered; includes digital download)
Upcoming live dates: Nov 09 | Málaga (SP) @ Festival Moments 10 | + Rosy Finch Nov 11 | Málaga (SP) @ La Caverna Nov 25 | Sevilla (SP) @ Monkey Week | + Fin del Mundo, Travo and Maragda
The Silver Linings: Javi – guitar/vocals Cati – guitar Jose – bass Lolo – drums Marta – sax
Posted in Reviews on October 4th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Wednesday, huh? I took the dog for a walk this morning. We do that. I’ve been setting the alarm for five but getting up before — it’s still better than waking up at 4AM, which is a hard way to live unless you can go to bed at like 8 on the dot, which I can’t really anymore because kid’s bedtime, school, and so on — and taking Tilly for a walk around the block and up the big hill to start the day. Weather permitting, we do that walk three times a day and she does pretty well. This morning she didn’t want to leave the Greenie she’d been working on and so resisted at first, but got on board eventually.
In addition to physical movement being tied to emotional wellbeing — not something I’m always willing to admit applies to myself, but almost always true; I also get hangry or at least more easily overwhelmed when I’m hungry, which I always am because I have like seven eating disorders and am generally a wreck of a person — the dog doesn’t say much and it’s pretty early and dark out when we go, so I get a quiet moment out under the moon going around the block looking up at Venus, Jupiter, a few stars we can see through the suburban light pollution of the nearby thoroughfares. We go up part of the big hill, have done the full thing a couple times, but she’s only just three-plus months, so not yet really. But we’re working on it, and despite Silly Tilly’s fears otherwise, her treat was right where we left it on the rug when we got back. And she got to eat leaves, so, bonus.
There are minutes in your day. You can find them. You can do it. I’m not trying to be saccharine or to bullshit you. Life is short and most of it is really, really difficult, so take whatever solace you can get however you can get it. Let’s talk about records.
Quarterly Review #21-30:
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Maggot Heart, Hunger
This is Maggot Heart‘s third record and they’re still a surprise. It can be jarring sometimes to encounter something that edges so close to unique within the underground sphere, but the Berlin outfit founded/fronted by Linnéa Olsson (ex-The Oath, ex-Grave Pleasures, ex-Sonic Ritual) offer bleak and subversively feminine post-punk informed by black metal on Hunger, and as she, bassist Olivia Airey and drummer Uno Bruniusson (ex-In Solitude, etc.), unfurl eight tracks of arthouse aggro and aesthetic burn, one can draw lines just as easily with “Nil by Mouth” or the later “Looking Back at You” to mid-’70s coke-strung New York poetic no wave and the modern European dark progressive set to which Maggot Heart have diligently contributed over the last half decade. The horn sounds on “LBD” are a nice touch, and “Archer” puts that to work in some folk-doom context, but in the tension of “Concrete Soup” or the avant garde setting out across the three minutes of the leadoff semi-title-track “Scandinavian Hunger,” Maggot Heart demonstrate their ability to knock the listener off balance as a first step toward reorienting them to the atmosphere the band have honed in these songs, slightly goth on “This Shadow,” bombastic in the middle and end of “Parasite,” each piece set to its own purpose adding some aspect to the whole. You wouldn’t call it easy listening, but the challenge is part of the fun.
Adjacent to New Psych Philly with their homebase in Allentown, Pennsylvania, and with a self-titled collection that runs between the shoegazing shine of “Deadzone,” the full-fuzz brunt of “Slack” or “Inside Out,” the three-minute linear build of “Fell Off” made epic by its melody, and the hooky indie sway of advance single “Be as One,” the trio Catatonic Suns make a quick turnaround from their 2022 sophomore LP, Saudade, for the lysergic realization and apparent declaration of this eight tracks/31 minutes. With most cuts punkishly short and able to saunter into the noise-coated jangle of “Failsafe” or the wash of “Sublunary” — speaking of post-punk — Catatonic Suns eventually land at closer “No Stranger,” which tops eight minutes and comprises a not-insignificant percentage of the total runtime. And no, they aren’t the first heavy psych band to have shorter songs up front and a big finale, but the swirling layered triumph of “No Stranger” carries a breadth in its immersive early verses, mellow, sitar-laced midsection jam and noise-caked finish and comes across very much as what Catatonic Suns has been building toward all the while. The same might be true of the band, for all I know — it seems to be the longest piece they’ve written to-date — but either way, put them on the ‘Catatonic Voyage’ tour with Sun Voyager for two months crisscrossing the US and never look back. Big sound, and after three full-lengths, significant potential.
Densely weighted in tone, brash in its impact and heavy, heavy, heavy in atmosphere, Sacri Suoni‘s second album together and first under their new moniker (they used to be called Stoned Monkey; kudos on the change), Sacred is Not Divine positions itself as a cosmic doom thesis and an exploration of the reaches and impacts to be found through collaborative jamming. Four songs make it — “Doom Perspection of the Astral Frequency 0-1” (8:15), “Six Scalps for Six Sounds” (10:28), “Cult of Abysmus” (13:15) and “Plutomb, Engraved in Reality” (8:02) — and as heavy has they are (have I mentioned that yet?) there is dynamic at play as well in the YOB-ish noodles and strums at the start of “Six Scalps for Six Sounds” or in “Cult of Abysmus” around the 10-minute mark, or in the opener’s long fade, but make no mistake, the mission here is heft and space and the Milano outfit have both in ready supply. I think “Plutomb, Engraved in Reality” has maybe three riffs? Might be two, but either way, it’s enough. The character in this material is defined by its weight, but there are three dimensions to their style and all are represented. If you listen on headphones, try really hard not to pulverize your brain in the process.
Earthy enough in tone and their slower rolling moments to earn an earliest-Acid King comparison, Barrie, Ontario’s Nova Doll are nonetheless prone to shifting into bits of aggro punk, as in “Waydown” or “Dead Before I Knew It,” the latter of which closes their debut album, Denaturing, the very title of the thing loaded with context beyond its biochemical interpretations. That is, if Nova Doll are pissed, fair enough. “California Sunshine” arrives in the first half of the seven-song/29-minute long-player, with rhythm kept on the toms, open drones and a vastness that speaks at least to some tertiary affect of desert rock on their sound. Psychedelia comes through in different forms amid the crunch of a song like “Mabon,” or “California Sunshine,” and the bassy centerpiece near-title-track feels willfully earthbound — not complaining; they’re that much stronger for changing it up — but the three-piece of guitarist/vocalist Casey Cuff, bassist Sean Alten and drummer Daniel Allen ride that groove in “Denaturation” like they already know the big spaceout in “Light Her Up” is coming. And they probably did, given the apparent care put into what is sometimes a harsh presentation and the variety they bring around the central buzz that seems to underscore the songs. Grown-up punk, still growing, but their sound is defined and malleable in its noisy approach on their first full-length, and that’s only encouraging.
With their self-released debut album, In Line for the End Times, hard-driving single-guitar four-piece Howl at the Sky enter the field with 12 songs and a CD-era-esque 55-minute run that filters through a summary of decades of heavy rock and roll influences. From their native state of Ohio alone, bands like Valley of the Sun and Lo-Pan, or Tummler and Red Giant a generation ago — these and others purveying straight-ahead heavy rock light on tricks and big on drive. More metal in their riffy underpinnings than some, certainly less than others, they foster hooks whether it’s a three-minute groover like “Stink Eye” and opener “Our Lady of the Knives” or the more spacious “Dry as a Bone” and the penultimate “Black Lung,” which has a bit more patience in its sway than the C.O.C.-circa-’91 “The Beast With No Eyes” and modernize ’70s vibes in the traditions of acts one might find on labels like Ripple or Small Stone. That is, rock dudes, rockin’. Vocalist Scott Wherle bears some likeness to We’re All Gonna Die‘s Jim Healey early on, but both are working from a classic heavy rock and metal foundation, and Wherle has a distinguishing, fervent push behind him in guitarist Mike Shope, bassist Scot “With One ‘T'” Fithen and drummer John Sims. For as long as these guys are together, I wouldn’t expect too many radical departures from what they do here. Once a band has its songwriting down like this, it’s really more just about letting grow on its own over time rather than forcing something, and the sense they give in listening is they know that too.
The first two four-song EPs by Buenos Aires psych/post-rock four-piece Fin del Mundo — guitarist/vocalist Lucia Masnatta, guitarist Julieta Heredia, bassist Julieta Limia, drummer/backing vocalist Yanina Silva — wander peacefully through a dreamy apocalypse compiled together chronologically as Todo Va Hacia el Mar, the band’s Spinda Records first long-player. From “La Noche” through “El Fin del Mundo,” what had been a 2020 self-titled, the tones are serene and the melodies drift without getting lost or meandering too far from the songs’ central structure, though that last of them reaches broader and heavier ground, resonance intact. The second EP, 2022’s La Ciudad Que Dejamos, the LP’s side B, has more force behind its rhythms and creates a wash in “El Próximo Verano” to preface its gang-vocal moment, while closer “El Incendio” takes the Sonic Youth-style indie of the earlier material and fosters more complex melodicism around it and builds tension into a decisive but not overblown resolution. It’s 34 minutes long and even between its two halves there’s obvious growth on the part of the band being showcased. Their next long-player will be like a second debut, and I’ll be curious how they take on a full-length format having that intention in the first place for the material.
A pandemic-born project (and in some ways, aren’t we all?), the two-piece instrumentalist unit Bloody Butterflies — that’s guitarist/bassist Jon Howard (Hordes) and drummer August Elliott (No Skull) — released their first album, Polymorphic, in 2020 and emerge with a follow-up in the seven tracks/27 minutes of the on-theme Mutations and Transformations, letting the riffs do their storytelling on cuts like “Toilet Spider” and “Frandor Rat,” the latter of which may or may not be in homage to a rat living near the Kroger on the east side of Lansing. The sound is punker raw and as well it should be. That aforementioned ratsong has some lumber to its procession, but in the bassy “Fritzi” that follows, the bright flashes of cymbal in opener “BB Theme” (also the longest inclusion; immediate points) and the noisy declaration of post-doom stomp before the feedback at the end of “Wormhole” consumes all and the record ends, they find plenty of ways to stage off monochromatism. Actually, what I suspect is they’re having fun. At least that’s what it sounds like, in a very particular way. Fair enough. It would be cool to have some clever lesson learned from the pandemic or something like that, but no, sometimes terrible shit just happens. Cool for these two getting a band out of it. Take the wins you can get.
Whilst prone to NWOBHM tapping twists of guitar in the leads of “Alien Hunter,” “Quicksilver Trail,” etc. and burling up strains of ’90s metal and a modern heavy sub-burl that adds nuance to its melodies, Solar Sons‘ fifth album, Another Dimension, arrives at its ambitions organically. The Dundee, Scotland, everybody-sings three-piece of bassist/lead vocalist Rory Lee, guitarist/vocalist Danny Lee and drummer/vocalist Pete Garrow embark with purpose on a narrative structure spread across the nine songs/62 minutes of the release that unveils more of its progressive doom character as it unfolds its storyline about a satellite sent to learn everything it can about the universe and return to save a dying Earth — science-fiction with a likeness to the Voyager probes; “The Voyage” here makes a triumph of its keyboard-backed second-half solo — presumably with alien knowledge. It’s not a minor undertaking in either theme or the actual listening time, but hell’s bells if Another Dimension doesn’t draw you in. Something in the character has me feeling like I can’t tell if it’s metal or rock or prog and yes I very much like that about it. Plenty of room for them to be all three, I guess, in these songs. They finish with the swing and shred and stomp of “Deep Inside the Mountain,” so I’ll just assume everything works out cool for homo sapiens in the long run, conveniently ignoring the fact that doing so is what got us into such a mess in the first place.
A 5:50 single to answer back to last year’s second long-player, Only the Dead Know Our Secrets (review here), the latest from Mosara — which is actually an older track given some reworking, vocals and ambience, reportedly — is “Amena,” which immediately inflicts the cruelty of its thud only as a seeming preface for the Conan-like grueling-ultradoom-battery-with-shouts-cutting-through about to take place. A slow, noise-coated roll unfolds ahead of the largely indecipherable verse, and when that’s done, a cymbal seems to get hit extra hard as though to let everyone know it’s time to really dig in. It is both rawer in its harshness and thicker in tone than the last album, so it puts forth the interesting question of what a third Mosara full-length might bring atmospherically to the mix with their deepening, distorted roil. As it stands, “Amena” is both a steamroller of riff and a meditation, holding back only for as long as it takes to slam into the next measure, with its sludge growing more and more hypnotic as it slogs through the song’s midsection toward the inevitable seeming end of feedback and drone. Noisy band getting noisier. I’m on board.
Jupiter‘s Uinumas is a complex half-hour-plus that comprises their fourth full-length, running seven songs — that’s six plus the penultimate title-track, which is a psych-jazzy interlude — as cuts like “Lumerians” and “Relentless” at the outset see the Finnish trio reestablish their their-own-wavelength take on heavy and progressive sounds classic and new. It’s not so much about crazy structures or 75-minute-long songs or indulgent noodling — though there’s a bit of that owing to the nature of the work, if nothing else — but just how much Jupiter make the aural space they inhabit their own, the way “After You” pushes into its early wash, or the later “On Mirror Plane” (so that’s it!) spaces out and then seems to align itself around the bassline for a forward shuffle sprint, or the way that closer “Slumberjack’s Wrath” chugs through until it’s time for the blowout, which is built up past three minutes in and caps with shimmer that borders on the overwhelming. An intricate but recognizable approach, Jupiter‘s more oddball aspects and general cerebrality might put off some listeners, but as dug in as Jupiter are on Uinumas, on significantly doubts they were shooting for mass appeal anyhow. Who the hell would want that anyway? Bunch of money and people sweating everything you do. Yuck.
The Silver Linings will release their debut album, Pink Fish, Oct. 11 through Spinda Records. The Andalusian, Málaga-based five-piece were reportedly four until about a fortnight ahead of recording their May 2023 debut EP, TSL, and that nugget of information conveyed by the PR wire below is actually a fitting analog for the kind of music they make. Running seven songs and a thoroughly manageable 37 minutes — the first single is centerpiece “Patient M”; the video for it premieres below — it encompasses decades of psychedelic influence and is informed by the surrounding creativity in its regional underground such that it goes where it wants. With the Stones-tambourine-meet-mellow-lysergic-ooze-strum of opener “Cosmic Excursions,” which breaks in its second half to a shimmering guitar lead that would bring a smile to the face of Jose “Poti” Moreno, hand percussion backing the sun-coated jam before a sample of Ronald Reagan talking about aliens starts the surf-y garage rocker “A Pleasant Trip to the Unknown.”
Lead guitar, the solo that takes hold after about a minute into “A Pleasant Trip to the Unknown” particularly, is Beatlesian in how the guitar sings, so of course The Silver Linings use it as a preface to a heavy psych swirl-and-swing fuzz shuffle because why not. Coated in wah, the lead guitar returns, but it’s more about the build in progress toward the finish of the song than carrying a melody, which is fine. The early message is that The Silver Linings aren’t looking to do just one thing, and the rest of Pink Fish bears that out. The title-track follows and is immersive in its cymbal wash, effects and so on until the tambourine enters with a grounding effect gentler than just going right to drums, a declarative Colour Haze progression in the rhythm guitar and bass, and a suitable coinciding flow.
So what happens at the halfway point? Stop and go. “Pink Fish” treats the listener to a next-stage-deployment of the rocket launch that “A Pleasant Trip to the Unknown” began, a vague spoken sample leading to a ghostly verse, a kind of serene acid boogiegaze — it’s like it’s moving, but it thinks it’s cool if you just wanna relax; all good — and the aforementioned “Patient M” ends side A with a Hawkwindian answer to the outbound direction of Pink Fish thus far. It’s a big universe out there. Are we going? We’re going.
That sax, along with a classic clarity in the guitar tone — lead lines all over, bright like surf or space, but not playing toward vintageism in the recording — works to tie “Patient M” together and seems to give The Silver Linings permission to dwell in the parts more. There’s an intro, verse, chorus, bridge, solo, even a mini-jam at the end, but when you’re listening it’s less about the structure of the thing than the overarching affect that draws from so many different sides to become as impressively cohesive as it is. Plus, it swings, capping a movement across the four tracks of Pink Fish‘s first half, each of which took less than five minutes to add to the scope of the record.
Side B’s three component pieces, “Heart Full of Gold,” “In the Fleeting Hand of Time” and the closer “Lifeforce,” are all over that mark, with “Heart Full of Gold” the longest at 6:18 beginning with a wistful echo of harmonica soon joined by standalone guitar, not necessarily Western and not blues (which is fine, mind you), but hypnotic in an up-and-down course as it shifts into an open-spaced, kick-anchored stretchout that picks up some All Them Witches vibes as it unfolds. With the tambourine and the drawling vocal, that impression is stronger, but in its payoff, “Heart Full of Gold” returns to Andalusian psych-prog that much richer for the route it took to get there and by the time it’s done I’m ready to give up on trying to guess where The Silver Linings are going to head next, at least in an acid psych context. So much the better.
“In the Fleeting Hand of Time” doesn’t answer the ending of “Heart Full of Gold” with a blowout, but starts with the full band easing into a fluid, sax-inclusive jam across the first of its five-plus minutes, the guitar and sax smoothly making way for the verse shortly thereafter. The vocals are light in a way that answers the song prior, the bassline particularly sweet as the song transitions into a light push of boogie that builds to a crescendo and gets noisy again in the comedown as it might onstage, the guitar and sax not wanting to let go quite yet, drums up for it.
A bit of feedback that on many records would be ignored stands out at the end, emphasizing how much of Pink Fish‘s atmosphere has been focused on soothing. A quick stop lets the shimmering guitar, shaker, tambourine, and so on, begin “Lifeforce,” and the finale soon enough is dug into tom-led okay-now-you-need-to-get-up Iberian folk-informed funk psych, where it stays. The tension rests in the guitar and bass, which are purposefully sharp-cornered in starts and stops and twists, though the semi-spoken verse assures terrestrial presence.
They steer “Lifeforce” to the album’s somewhat understated, not-a-blowout conclusion, seeming to be satisfied as they look back at how far they’ve ranged and the spontaneity they’ve captured in their sound, turning at just the right moment to work against expectation toward expanse and set themselves up with a swath of avenues for potential forward growth. I wouldn’t be surprised if they took all of them.
Preorder links and the noted PR wire background follow the “Patient M” video below.
Formed in Malaga (Spain) in 2021, The Silver Linings’ music can be understood as a return to the origins, to those years of early psychedelia, when UFOs were still travelling through deep space and tales of tin-can robots, with their typical mechanical movements, filled our imaginations.
Jose (bass), Cati (guitar) y Javi (vocal, guitar) began their psychedelic acid trip together with Chechu (drums), but only a few months later Lolo replaced him and the band started working on their first songs. Their influences range comes from 20th century Sci-fi, the literary work of Moorcock, the illustrations of Moebius, the cinema of Tarkovski, the works of Jodorowski and beat poetry, as well as Andalusian natural landscapes such as the Torcal rocks, Gorafe desert, Bolonia dunes and the Strait of Gibraltar.
Taking their musical style and the fact that they’re based in the south of Spain into account, they can be included in the New Wave Of Andalusian Psychedelia, together with bands such as Atavismo, Híbrido, Lunavieja, Medicina, Santo Rostro, Mía Turbia, Gu Vo or DMBK, although their sound -closer to acid-psych-space-kraut rock- makes us think of Causa Sui, Hawkwind or even Can.
In May 2023, two weeks before recording their debut EP ‘TSL’ at Hollers Analog Studio (Málaga), Marta joined the band on saxophone. Just a few days after the digital release, the band was signed up by the indie record label Spinda Records (Moura, Fin del Mundo, Moundrag…), going into the studio once again to record additional music to re-launch everything as their first full-length album ‘Pink Fish’ in October 2023.
‘Pink Fish’ track-list: 1. Cosmic excursions 2. A pleasant trip to the unknown 3. Pink fish 4. Patient M 5. Heart full of gold 6. In the fleeting hand of time 7. Lifeforce
Formats: ● Digital ● 150x 140g Black Vinyl ● 150x 140g Clear Orange Vinyl
The Silver Linings: Javi – guitar/vocals Cati – guitar Jose – bass Lolo – drums Marta – sax
Posted in Whathaveyou on August 25th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Believe me, I understand that Europe is not exactly lacking in instrumental psych bands. Free-range and free-jazz trios roam in the wilds Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, the UK even, Italy, Scandinavia, on and on. We know this. What I’m saying is that Nijmegen’s Bismut are on something of a different trip. Yeah, when you read about it, you’re going to hear ‘instrumental psych’ and think, “okay, this is one of those post-Earthless or maybe post-Colour Haze jam bands” and know what you’re getting. And by the way, if that was what Bismut were doing, fine. I love that shit.
But Bismut are more progressive in their sound on their third LP behind 2020’s Retrocausality (review here) and their 2018 debut, Schwerpunkt (review here). I can hear Tool and Karma to Burn both in opening track “Mendalir” and the subsequent “Faun” backs that up with surprisingly earthy riffing. However much Bismut‘s beginnings may have been in improv, these are composed pieces. There’s genuine crunch in the tone on “Despotisme” and the closer “Euphoria,” and “Masta” spaces out a bit, but as much as a band without vocals could, Bismut sound like they’re trying to capture an audience. A live crowd. And these songs sound like they were written for the stage, which they may well have been.
So yeah, I’ve heard it and it’s not worth pretending otherwise. I’m currently slated to stream [title redacted] on Oct. 18 ahead of its Oct. 20 release (don’t tell the internet, but the day between is my birthday). Mark your calendars for that. It feels far in the future with September between here and there, but it’ll come eventually.
The PR wire sent words. I made theM blue and put them here because it is important to see the narrative an artist/band/anybody is telling you about their own work:
BISMUT – NEW LP – RELEASE DATE 20th OCTOBER 2023
Hailing from the city of Nijmegen in the Netherlands, Bismut is a dynamic heavy psych trio that has been carving their unique path since forming in 2016. Drawing influences from an eclectic blend of genres including progressive rock, doom, metal, stoner, heavy psych, and classic hard rock, their music is an intense and mesmerizing fusion that transcends traditional boundaries. Their distinctive sound has earned them a dedicated fanbase, and their performances on stages across Europe have solidified their reputation as a force to be reckoned with.
New album [title redacted] marks the triumphant return of the band, following the success of their sold-out (on vinyl) previous releases, Schwerpunkt in 2018, and Retrocausality in 2020, released via Lay Bare Recordings. This album promises to be a sonic journey that delves even deeper into the band’s diverse influences while pushing their sound to new heights. From thunderous, doom-laden riffs to mind-bending psychedelic explorations, the album seamlessly weaves together a tapestry of textures that will resonate with long-time fans and newcomers alike.
[Title redacted] is a joint effort between the band’s current Dutch label Lay Bare Recordings and the Spanish label Spinda Records. This collaboration brings together a diverse range of expertise, amplifying the album’s potential for international recognition and success. The partnership aims to introduce the band’s electrifying sound to a wider global audience, leveraging the strengths of both labels in their respective regions.
Insistent jazzjabs of snare, twisty ’90s guitar and bouncing bass lead the way into the opening title-track of Plastic Woods‘ 2021 album, Dragonfruit. Released through Spinda Records, Gato Encerrado Records, Discos Macarras, The Braves Records and Violence in the Veins, it was offered as the Andalusian three-piece’s second full-length behind 2019’s Icarus, solidifying and consciously aligning around a sound aware of its home region’s penchant for blending classic progressive rock and heavy psychedelia, but not beholden to it, working in elements of punk, doom, boogie rock, Spanish folk and flamenco guitar and vocals, a sound rife with quirk but remarkably sure of itself, and able to pivot from fleet-stepping prog to crusher riffing at will. And that’s just the first two minutes.
Guitarist/vocalist Jesús de la Torre Sánchez — also the transverse flute on 10-minute closer “Sulayr” — bassist Antonio Pérez Muriel, who holds together jams like “The Calling” and “Dreamland” with class and flash, and drummer/percussionist Javier Rubio Arrabal, whose fluidity of play allows many of the shifts between styles to be done with apparent ease, are joined by a range of guests throughout. “Dragonfruit” itself has violin from Irene Veredas, as does relatively brief acoustic piece “Storm,” while Miguel Ángel Robles Urquiza adds trumpet and Carlos Mesa García plays sax on “Dreamland,” and by then — that’s track three — the band have already run through the Mellotron-laced prog of “The Calling,” with its laid back verse and sunny, folkish chorus, lighter ’90s swing and lush midsection stopping post-flute on its bassline at four minutes in, beginning the jam that will solidify across the next two minutes, with horns, and synth, and manipulated drums, into speedier guitar that resolves in a boogieing finish. A slide whistle of feedback gives over to the standalone vocal at the beginning of “Dreamland.”
With additional flamenco guitar, palmas and jaleos from Antonio Campos del Pino and piano/synth from Isaac Pascual Godoy, Dragonfruit comes across as even more complex and with the way “The Calling” engages funk behind its vocal melody like Blind Melon and Porcupine Tree finding common ground in Iberian folk and flute. At their speediest, in the title-track or the penultimate “Close to the Void,” which returns to the opener’s dirtied-up tonality and rhythmic urgency, Plastic Woods can be dizzying, but it’s important to remember that the breadth in terms of arrangements and aesthetic here means they’re rarely doing the same thing twice on an LP that runs six songs and 32 minutes.
The violin-laced ’70s folk-rock of “Storm” is a departure from “Dreamland” prior, with that song’s foray into Beatles stomp and Primus bounce, trumpet and sax, and noodly stretchout. And “Storm” gives over to “Close to the Void,” which is a shoving rager until it hits its big stoner rock slowdown into one of the best riffs Graveyard forgot to write on their second album, while “Sulayr” puts the flute up front early and builds into a flamenco verse, saving its heavier riffing for after the midpoint of its 10:17, though even that is less of a payoff than was “Close to the Void,” but having already done that thing, Plastic Woods resolve “Sulayr” in funky horns and a jazzy comedown, falling to silence to let an acoustic flamenco guitar kick in and begin the instrumental procession that will lead the band through the end of the record.
Drums, flute, bass, eventually join, but it’s still the acoustic guitar at the center of that last divergence, and it’s telling that Plastic Woods end with that longer and broader cut rather than something ‘just’ raucous and loud, showing ambition in a way that leads one to believe they’re cognizant of the styles they’re twisting together into one thing, and the changeable nature of that formula. From “Close to the Void” toying with doom to “Dragonfruit” panning the flourish lead lines of its verse, to the pairing of voice and violin on “Storm,” Dragonfruit accomplishes a sense of scope without giving up the songs beneath the arrangements or making the arrangements themselves the point of the thing. That is, “Dragonfruit” would still be a song without the horns. They enhance it, but their being there is clearly not the only reason the song was written, and whoever else is involved in a given track, the core trio shine through the production and mix from Jesús Gómez Moreno and Guillermo Ruiz Ravira at Green Cross Studio in Málaga (Mario G. Alberni at Kadifornia Mastering mastered).
In the vocals of Sánchez, Muriel‘s creativity and fun in the low end, and Arrabal‘s ready-for-it drumming, Plastic Woods seem to overflow with forward potential, whether that manifests in riffier or more folk-informed fare or — most likely — finds some space within and between the two, playing up the differences sometimes and at other points drawing lines from one to the other to find commonalities, much as they do here. I won’t try to predict where their music will go, though I wouldn’t be surprised if they had more keyboard next time out, but the confidence and boldness with which they so energetically present Dragonfruit speaks to a desire to progress, to grow as a band, and to continue to carve out their place in the ever-busy Spanish underground.
I was fortunate enough to see Plastic Woods play the pre-show at SonicBlast Fest (review here) last week. I knew nothing about them going into that experience and was a bit blown away as the set unfolded and the band were able to pull off the kinds of changes one hears them making throughout Dragonfruit, including bringing out the additional flamenco guitar twice during what was still only like 40 minutes but was an evening’s worth of getting-schooled. Young band, killer sound, will to grow and just enough weird in what they do to make it really unpredictable — you can pretty much sign me up for that anytime.
No clue if Plastic Woods are working on new material or another record or what, but I knew I wanted to write about this one after seeing them. Some things are worth talking about.
Thanks as always for reading. Hope you enjoy.
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This week is it for The Pecan and camp. There’s like two-plus weeks left before school starts, but we figured a couple weeks of actual break at the end wouldn’t be the worst. Today’s the last day of the last camp. Made it through the fucking summer. It was touch and go there for a minute, as I think you know.
The Patient Mrs. has lined up a few ‘fun week’ activities next week. Day trips and so on. I’m going to do my best to write as much as I can — same as always — but I’m also not going to miss summer with my five year old because I’m never going to have another, and even when she’s six next year, that’s a big difference. Who knows what she’ll be like by then?
But this week was bug camp and bug camp was two hours a day, so having a bit of a time crunch was what it was. I did my best. I think I forgot to put a post up one day and another day had four, but whatever. I feel like the one thing this site isn’t hurting for is content.
Mostly in addition to camp, which is at the arboretum, which is always nice and about 10 minutes away, this week was about comedown from being away last weekend. SonicBlast was a hoot. Great people, lovely time, I saw Greenleaf and Dozer again. I saw Acid King play “Mind’s Eye,” Ruff Majik do “Hillbilly Fight Song,” on and on. But tiring too. You come home tired, then there’s all the back-home stuff to do. By Monday afternoon I was pretty frazzled. Leftover adrenaline.
But I got there, I guess is what matters. And I’ll note that right now, this week, I’m not at my lowest of lows, and that seems worth appreciating. Wow, it’s almost like I benefitted somehow from blowing my brains out with music and being told my work is important for four days. No kidding. The insight around here never stops.
Have a great and safe weekend. Don’t forget to hydrate, sunblock. Watch your head. All that stuff.
Two bands, two sides, three jams. Kombynat Robotron and DUNDDW, from Germany and the Netherlands, respectively, offer their 37-minute/three-song split LP through Spinda Records (SP), Sunhair Music (DE), Echodelick Records (US) and Weird Beard Records (UK), and not to dwell so much on numbers, but yes, that is more record labels involved than there are songs on the release. As regards a title, I don’t know if it’s official, but the cover says Split LP, and that’s good enough as far as I’m concerned, and it’s fitting enough since, yes, that’s what it is, and being instrumental, both bands seem content enough to leave words at a minimum.
Kiel-based four-piece Kombynat Robotron — also stylized with Cyrillic letters: КОМВУИАТ ЯОВОТЯОИ — have been on a heavy psychedelic spree since their first outings (note the plural) in 2018, and they take side A with “Gamma” (7:34) and “Delta” (7:31), while side B goes to Nijmegen trio DUNDDW, with members of Bismut and Mt. Echo. The latter are closer to their origin point, having issued their first full-length in late-2022’s Flux (review here), but in addition to a shared aversion toward singers at least in the context of their own projects, the two acts share the improvisational ethic, and as DUNDDW unfold “VIII” (21:59) across side B, the unifying goal of Split LP is palpable as one of exploration.
There’s a bit of freakout here and there in “Gamma” and in the earlier going of “VIII,” DUNDDW‘s Peter Dragt just kind of starts to go nuts on drums and that energy becomes a build by itself until after the halfway point when they bring it back down, but serenity abounds otherwise; both bands foster an active forward reach amid miraculously unpretentious cosmic drift, harnessing the creativity of a fleeting moment and capturing it as it happened.
The tagline for the split is ‘100% improvised psych-kraut music from Germany and The Netherlands,’ and that may or may not be true — not sure why anyone would lie about that, but it’s happened before — the sounds fostered speak to the intention anyhow. I’m not arguing, in other words. Kombynat Robotron fade in on a cymbal wash for “Gamma,” but soon the guitar establishes the sunshiny central figure of the piece and they’re underway in a somewhat surprisingly song-ish manner. Mellow grunge in space? Post-whatever whatever?
Such interstellar krautrock pastoralia is set to a steady roller of a groove, and fluidity holds as they turn about a minute in — there must have been a head signal there or some such — to a more upbeat section. Guitarists James Ihnen and Richard Schröder, bassist Claas Ogorek and drummer Thomas Handschick are locked in from the outset, and whether they had some idea of what they wanted to do, or “Gamma” is cut out of a longer jam or what, the conversation happening between the members of the band, instrumentally speaking, is sharp. If they’re keeping it loose in any way, it’s conceptually, but there’s a linear build happening in “Gamma” that peaks just after six minutes in, and from there they noodle out on a long fade, and that hints at the very least toward a sense of direction rather than just showing up, plugging in and hitting it.
Not a complaint. Their “Delta” begins more subdued but has the same shimmer in the lower-mixed guitar and shifts after laying down that initial fuzzy breadth to a not-quite-motorik bit of push, fostering classic space rock vibes in its build en route to bringing that same lead guitar forward in the still-shimmying crescendo. They sound like they could keep going into perpetuity, but balance and the limitations of physical media require otherwise, so Kombynat Robotron fade to let DUNDDW start “VIII” with bass and drums.
Is it the eighth recording the band has done? Possible. On Flux, the three-piece featured the 22-minute “VI” and had two parts of the at-least-four-part “VII,” so “VIII” would be next in that succession, and it’s not unreasonable to think that guitarist Gerben Elburg, bassist Huibert der Weduwen and drummer Peter Dragt either recorded “VIII” then or are simply following the Karma to Burn example of numerical (if Roman numerals) ordering their songs. Ups and downs to that approach, as with anything, but most importantly, the chemistry that DUNDDW so readily displayed on Flux is to be found on the Split LP as well, whether it’s the proggy bassline and jazz-style business of the drumming or the way the guitar seems to inhabit a space of its own, weaving along with the rhythm as it grows more intense early on but keeping an overarching calmness via its tonality.
Dragt is on the toms by the time they’re four minutes in, and part of the journey becomes the bumps and jabs of the bass and the steady punctuation of the snare and the guitar moves closer to a wash as they approach the six-minute mark. It’s like you can hear them digging in. Elburg doesn’t miss the opportunity to freak out, and soon enough, Dragt is following suit on cymbals, resolving in a gallop that der Weduwen seems only too happy to complement. They draw it back down somewhat after seven minutes, but they’re nowhere near finished as they push farther and farther into improvised space ambience.
The hi-hat is still tense keeping time for a while after everything else calms and the guitar goes to sparse melodic hum — by then it’s the snare shuffling underneath — but the movement is never completely gone, so as they grow subtly more energetic, it’s easy to follow along. At 14:45, they begin in earnest the build back to full-volume, and the swirl, the push and the wash all come together in righteous cacophony for a crescendo before the inevitable denouement.
DUNDDW end on a fade, but “VIII” is basically done anyhow, with some studio noise underscoring the in-the-room-as-it-happened feel of the Split LP as a whole. I don’t know whose idea it was to put these two acts together, but cheers. That Kombynat Robotron and DUNDDW could have so much in common on paper and still be so distinct in their respective takes results in a split that emphasizes how identifiable each of their styles is. Their unity of purpose is enhanced, not contrasted, by their similarities as well as the differences between them.
