Album Review: Frozen Planet….1969, Not From 1969
Frozen Planet….1969 are now, and they want you to know it. The Sydney/Canberra-based three-piece journey forward through their particular realm of the creative ethersphere with three new tracks, cohesive after nearly a decade since their first, self-titled release in the unit of Paul (guitar) and Frank Attard (drums, production) — both formerly of Mother Mars — and bassist Lachlan Paine (Looking Glass), capturing a live sound and improvised-feeling procession across the 45-minute run of Not From 1969. A follow-up to 2020’s Hydroculture, the latest full-length from the richly exploratory trio works in a similar-feeling structure, with one shorter piece, one longer, and one much longer, though in comparison to its predecessor, the order has shifted on Not From 1969 and the total runtime is a smidgeon shorter. Given the improv-sounding nature of their work, the reaches they mine and on and on, one suspects that’s a result of what came out of their instruments that particular day at Frank Attard‘s own Frank St. Studio, and on any other afternoon, “Diamond Dust” (10:45), “Strangelands” (7:07) and “Dissolver” (27:09) might have taken a different form.
It’s an inherent strength of the style of heavy psychedelic jamming that it didn’t, but worth mentioning for sure that as Paine and the Attards present these captured moments, mixed and mastered (the latter by Philip Dust), topped off with righteously stylized cover art (photos by Matthew Slager, design by John Debobo-Cullen), the moments are all the more worth appreciating for the fact that they’ve been captured, perhaps mined out of longer jams, or, as in the case of “Strangelands,” willing to break in the middle of its funky , prog-jazz-ish build in order to pursue a different route altogether. There, as in “Diamond Dust” prior and the massive-even-when-put-to-scale “Dissolver” afterward, Frozen Planet….1969‘s work is deceptively intricate. One can feel them grasping as “Strangelands” falls apart, learning the progression of guitar on “Diamond Dust” as it happens, and answering the beginning fluidity of “Dissolver” with a bouncing bassline and steadily rolling drums. In this way, the band make their transformative motion to the present moment in which they reside. They create the thing as they live in it.
Of course, Frozen Planet….1969 are far from the only act out there with this methodology. Improv heavy psych is a microgenre — that is, there aren’t a ton of people on the planet doing it in earnest, let alone doing it this well — but it’s not unheard of or unfamiliar at least on paper. Where the Aussie unit continue to most shine, however, is in their chemistry and in the unpretentious manner in which they present the results of their experimentation. Take a look at Not From 1969. There’s no claim being laid to unnamed planets, or mountains or giant monsters or cartoon boobs or anything like that. It’s an old radio and eight-track player, and they tell you right on there what they want you to know — that they’re not actually from the year 1969. Especially for something of its ilk, the record is resolute in its straightforwardness, and that applies as much to the music as anything.
Even as they undertake the initial journey of “Diamond Dust” with Paul‘s guitar pushing through standalone Middle Eastern-toned scales building to a wash before the drums and bass join in, they are neither void of effects nor reliant upon them to make their impression. “Diamond Dust” holds to a flowing motion that, yes, has plenty of reverb and echoing notes, but to listen to the bass underlying the guitar — I’ll officially classify Paine‘s tone as “gotta-hear” throughout — and the interplay between that and the drums, the highlight isn’t necessarily that the song creates this ambience so much as it is the conversation that allows that creation to take place. It’s about these three players, not at all strangers by now, celebrating this thing they are when they are together. You can call that reading too much into it if you want, but at its most freaked out, “Diamond Dust” still feels like three artists in a room reveling in the experiential moment. It’s not 1969. It’s not 1996. It’s this very second.
I won’t take anything away from the long-form immersion that’s set forth in “Dissolver,” but “Strangelands” might be an even better example of the communication between players, from its early boogie to the aforementioned break about four minutes in and the funk-via-jazz that takes over later. Obviously I don’t know the circumstances of how much Not From 1969 has been edited, but that moment of transition feels as organic as it possibly could, and even that such a thing is believable at all on a record is a triumph on the part of the band. They continue into “Dissolver” also playing through multiple stages of the longer jam, coming to a head early and then receding atop the easy-rolling drums and bass, funky again before going minimal-noodly in the guitar, eventually emerging in low-end fuzz and a galloping freakout, distortion coming and going, finally seeming to come apart at the finish as all jams inevitably must.
There too Frozen Planet….1969 highlight the human aspect of what they do. There is a stretch to their sound, to be sure. The album is broad in sound and there’s a definite depth to Frank Attard‘s mix — more than enough to get lost in if that’s your aim — but maybe the unspoken command in Not From 1969 can be for the listener to also not be in their own 1969, lost in some flimsy idolization of the past. Maybe this is the band’s message to join them in the present moment, to be mindful and aware of your place in the place that isn’t a place, and to breathe and feel that breath fill and empty from your lungs. There’s plenty to be said for letting the mind wonder while engaging with psychedelic fare — especially instrumental as this is — but approaching “Diamond Dust,” “Strangelands” and “Dissolver” in a conscious state and moving with the album as its follows its various paths is all the more satisfying with Frozen Planet….1969 in a way that isn’t always the case for bands of their ilk. All the more reason to celebrate the moment. Rejoice in the lightning as well as the bottle.
Frozen Planet….1969, Not From 1969 (2022)
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