[Click play above to steam the premiere of ‘Minds of Love’ by Lamp of the Universe. The Akashic Field is out Jan. 11 on HeadSpin Records.]

The most reliable trajectory to think of when it comes to Lamp of the Universe is outward. Far outward. The long-running solo-project of Hamilton, New Zealand’s Craig Williamson, begun during his late-’90s run with Datura and continued through his founding and releasing three albums with the heavier-psych trio Arc of Ascent, has consistently held to an exploratory standard, and with a foundation in acid folk and a unifying depth of arrangement, Williamson has shone his Lamp on an entire cosmic spectrum, from sitar-laced meditations to the pulses of atmosphere-breaching space rock and beyond.

The Akashic Field is the follow-up to 2020’s Dead Shrine (review here) and something of a spiritual successor to Arc of Ascent‘s 2017 third and final-at-least-for-now LP, Realms of the Metaphysical (review here), finding Williamson enacting full-band sounds on his own in the recording for the eight included tracks, emphasizing the backing of a drum kit, which is something that’s been intermittent throughout the Lamp of the Universe catalog.

It’s no small shift. Album opener “Return as Light” (premiered here) finds its momentum quickly by swirling backward melodies and various keys around a central drum pattern with tambourine added for extra movement, given complement by layers of Williamson‘s laid back, gently-styled vocals. The subsequent “Emerald Sands” adds a fuzzed out electric guitar to its own acoustic baseline procession, and pushes the group-all-together further while holding to the lysergic spirit that pervades here much as throughout the Lamp of the Universe discography. This blend of an established approach and a corresponding will to find new expressions for it is the core of what Williamson does with Lamp of the Universe.

For anyone unfamiliar with the outfit’s past work, the aesthetic shifts of The Akashic Field will of course be less palpable, but suffice it to say there’s a linearity to the progressive sound realized across this record’s 42-minute span. Even if it seems stark in comparison to some of Lamp of the Universe‘s other output, a song like “Return as Light” or its side-B-opening counterpart, the grit-fuzz-distorted riffer “Descendants” (premiered here), isn’t coming out of nowhere, as ethereal as it might ultimately seem to be.

As narrative goes, that’s the story of The Akashic Field. It is Williamson putting himself to work across a broader scope of rock arrangements, working as producer as well as performer as he does and has for over 20 years. And it should be noted that, even as The Akashic Field seems to brim with this purpose, the album does not merely stick to one idea or the other. “Minds of Love,” with its ’60s harpsichord-esque midsection, Mellotron drone and watery lead vocal over more drums and tambourine, finds its own balance between elements, coming down somewhat from “Return as Light” and “Emerald Sands” even as it crafts a multi-tiered hook of its chorus and keys.

This leads into “Seventh Seal,” which ends side A, and is the first of two songs over six minutes long — the other is the side B finale, “The Messianic Rule,” so there’s an intentional play for a vinyl structure evident as well as a general tightening of the songwriting throughout — which is a mellow roll marked by guitar-as-sitar-or-maybe-that’s-just-sitar-oh-who-the-hell-knows and a breadth of vocal echo over the hypnotic but not overly repetitive rhythm, executing a linear build that finds payoff in melody as well as its overarching fullness.

That in itself is something Lamp of the Universe has never done quite to the degree as on The Akashic Field, and in answering with “Descendants” — even after a platter flip — Williamson leaves nothing to question as to the aim toward incorporating a heavy rock feel. “Descendants” could be the work of a revived Datura or Arc of Ascent, but it says much that Williamson has chosen to present it on his own under the guise of Lamp of the Universe.

It is new territory being actively claimed by the project — “now I can do this like this” — and though it’s done thanks in part to the practicalities of Williamson expanding his production setup as discussed in a recent interview here, that does nothing to lessen the accomplishment that either “Descendants” or “Minds of Love” before or the ensuing shimmer of “Re-Ascension” represent. It may (or may not) be backward flute-Mellotron making its impression in “Re-Ascension,” but that comes after an initial guitar line that, by Lamp of the Universe standards, is relatively busy, and a break to open-space for contrast. Immediately the message is reinforced that The Akashic Field, and thus Lamp of the Universe itself, can be all of these things.

Which leaves the closing duo of “Mystic Circle” and “The Messianic Rule” to round out, and it should say something that the former, which is a mellow, sitar-led and minimally-percussed stretch most reminiscent of ‘traditional’ Lamp of the Universe fare, is by virtue of being so a sonic outlier among these surroundings, which also highlighting the effect of Williamson‘s voice in pulling and holding the entire release together.

Calling the sole presence of a solo-project pivotal is redundant — without him there’s no band — but as “Mystic Circle” feeds into the revitalized nod of “The Messianic Rule” and The Akashic Field hits its moment of last summation on a meld of buzzsaw lead guitar and molten, languid rhythmic backing, the underlying sense of creative design is even more apparent. In whatever manner or order the album was pieced together, however the songs happened as they did, the final result is that The Akashic Field has a classic LP-style flow, brought to bear with the confidence of one who’s been making records alone for as long as Williamson has even as one can note increased confidence in vocals, drums and keyboard arrangements.

Lamp of the Universe has not stopped and seemingly will not stop growing, and whatever path Williamson takes with the project after The Akashic Field, the ground he treads is only richer for his having done this work. A great place to start for new listeners willing to be drawn in, and an especially bold statement in context.

Lamp of the Universe, “Return as Light” official video

Lamp of the Universe, “Descendants” official video

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For over 20 years, Craig Williamson of Hamilton, New Zealand, has used Lamp of the Universe as a solo vehicle for exploring the cosmos. From the Eastern-inflected acid folk of his earliest work to the spaced-out vibes of some of his splits and the surprisingly rocking fare on his new album, The Akashic Field, Williamson — who was in Datura concurrent to starting Lamp of the Universe and who founded Arc of Ascent late in the aughts as well — has never rested on laurels or stayed in one place too long, sonically speaking. His releases follow a trajectory that twists in one direction or another, but remain consistent in terms of his performances, craft, and flair for arrangement.

Earlier this year, Lamp of the Universe premiered two singles on this site: “Return as Light” (posted here) and “Descendants” (posted here). These two songs were the first audio to come from The Akashic Field, and showed a definite turn away even from where Williamson was with 2020’s Dead Shrine (review here). The shift brought more of a full-band sensibility to the material, which is something Williamson accounts for in terms of self-producing, hearing himself and being driven forward by following what he likes about what he’s doing in terms of arranging and building the songs outward from their foundations on acoustic or electric guitar.

Lamp of the Universe are still plenty psych, and even with an uptick in production the abiding vibe remains organic, but if these tracks feel more in line with where Arc of Ascent were on their 2017 offering, Realms of the Metaphysical (review here), that’s not an accident. Williamson, while keeping firm hold conceptually and practically of Lamp of the Universe as a solo-project — I do ask him whether or not he’d put together a live band in the interview — has endeavored to bring that feel to life, essentially working as the entire band himself in putting together rock songs, bringing a side of his writing to the material that’s never shown up in this context in quite this way.

The Akashic Field was/is occasion enough to talk, but I also wanted to pick Williamson‘s brain on his general creative mindset. He’s someone whose work is deeply consistent over a long period of time; who’s never stopped progressing while staying true to his own intentions and drives. Needless to say, in addition to being a fan of his output, this is something I find deeply admirable, and I feel fortunate to have had the time to discuss it with him this past Friday.

Oh, and if you stick around until the end my kid shows up in the video. Sometimes these things happen.

Enjoy:

Lamp of the Universe, Interview with Craig Williamson, Dec. 3, 2021

Lamp of the Universe’s The Akashic Field is out Jan. 11 through HeadSpin Records. More info at the links.

Lamp of the Universe, “Return as Light” official video

Lamp of the Universe, “Descendants” official video

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Already in 2019, Sydney’s Comacozer have shared stages across Australia and/or toured with Wo Fat, 1000mods, Naxatras and Oz’s own Mt. Mountain, among others, so while they haven’t necessarily traveled far and wide, their reach is nothing if not considerable. Last year, the instrumentalist psych three-piece of guitarist Rick Burke, bassist Rich Elliott and drummer Andrew Panagopoulos added a fourth in synthesist/keyboardist James “Jabs” Heyligers, and the three-song limit-stretched that is Mydriasis is their first offering since. Their fourth record overall, it follows the vinyl-minded outfit’s impressively expansive 2017 LP, Kalos Eidos Skopeo (review here), 2016’s Astra Planeta (review here) and their 2015 EP compilation, Deloun Sessions, as well as various other odds and ends, and pushes further into cosmic depths, self-recorded with Dan Frizza as a co-mixer and engineer and issued through HeadSpin Records (LP) and Sound Effect Records (CD).

It is comprised of only three tracks and runs 45 minutes, and works in longform explorations of sonic psychedelic ideology. Resonant tones and weighted groove play out in patient fashion across “Mydriasis” (13:11), “Tryptamine” (11:30) and “Kykeneon Journey” (20:51), and Comacozer balance a will to hypnotize their listener against progressions that are immersive but still forward enough to justify active attention. Setting up an overarching flow has never been a problem going back to 2014’s Sessions demo, but the ethereal vibe of Mydriasis is a thing to behold, and it’s easy to argue it stands as Comacozer‘s broadest stretch of space-infused soundscapes to-date.

No doubt the inclusion of Heyligers in the proceedings is a factor in that — how could it not be? — but the change goes beyond simply what’s being played as well and plays a role in the larger conversation happening between Burke, Elliott and Panagopoulos as well. It can be heard in the patience with which the songs are brought to bear across Mydriasis, the way Comacozer allows parts to breathe and seemingly find their own way, not necessarily on improvisational terms, but with a natural path that’s never any further out in its wanderings than the band wants it to be. From the initial kick of the drums in the opening title-track, there’s a sense of movement maintained across the album, but a spacious sensibility that’s always been there in Comacozer‘s sound is all the more enhanced by the breadth that Heyligers brings to it.

Rest assured, there’s heft, nod and effects galore, but more than ever, their work seems to be about the journey into and through the fuzz that swallows “Mydriasis” at its midpoint rather than simply being in that place. That is, such outwardly heavy stretches are part of the story rather than the story itself. The guitar rings out with a gloriously triumphant lead over steady-rolling drums and bass and drones, and a molten heavy psych vibe meets with a classic blues jam feel, neither side compromising what it does — or needing to — in order to fit alongside the other. Again, this is as exciting as it is hypnotic, and while it’s easy and enjoyable to lost oneself in the spaces Comacozer craft on their fourth LP, conscious engagement pays further dividends in satisfying slow-motion freakery and dizzying stretch. You dig? You could.

It’s “Mydriasis” and “Tryiptamine” on side A, and the opener finishes with a long fade of resonant drone and synth swirl as “Tryptamine” soon answers back with a gradual, sample-topped entry and further use of synth at the outset for a beginning that reminds a bit of earlier YOB in its cosmic spread, but is ultimately directed someplace jammier, charting a gorgeously executed linear path into a payoff that happens late but is brought to bear with marked grace and, again, not at all contrived sounding, despite being a familiar structure at play. Echoplex-style noise backs the increasingly intense drums as bass fills out behind the guitar, and it’s not until shortly before nine minutes in that the full brunt of the tonality is brought to bear.

One has visions of time travel, of things that move fast but on such a scale that they seem to be slow, of selves looking at other selves in real space. I’d say it’s not for the faint of heart were it not so god damned gentle about it, Captain. Comacozer‘s finest hour is and should inherently be “Kykeneon Journey,” with its unmatched sprawl and righteous use of effects, etc., but even the shortest cut on Mydriasis leaves a significant impression as well as an impression of significance. Noise brings that track to its end as well and transitions easily into the start of “Kykeneon Journey.”

There’s a side flip in between, of course, but let’s for a moment pretend we’re not all sitting in smoking jackets listening to vinyl on vintage players and instead listening to music as part of real lives that involve things like headphones and laptops. In that more linear regard, “Kykeneon Journey” is a powerful moment of arrival for Mydriasis as well as for Comacozer more generally. The song seems to work in at least three stages and the last of them, as it would be, is the crescendo of song and album alike. It kicks in at 14:24 and carries through languidly and with airy soloing overtop, growing more intense as it moves past the 19-minute mark and crashing out just before 20:10 to dedicate the remaining 40 seconds or so to a residual wash of noise and drone that finishes on a more gentle fade.

It is encompassing in a way that Comacozer have been moving toward being throughout the last half-decade and, if they were indeed headed in that direction, would be a fair predecessor for a single-song album. That is, if the Sydney foursome continued to expand in ideas and runtimes, I wouldn’t be surprised. As it stands, their first release with this lineup seems to remove conceptual restraints and let them feel their way forward in a manner that’s exciting for the listener as well, no doubt, as it is for them. Wherever they may end up over the longer term of course will remain to be seen, but it’s becoming increasingly clear they’re onto something special.

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Jammers gotta jam, and though they’re less than a year removed from their sixth full-length, 2018’s The Heavy Medicinal Grand Exposition (review here), clearly it was time for Frozen Planet….1969 to get down to business on the seventh. Released like that album through Headspin Records on vinyl and Pepper Shaker Records on jewel-case CD, Meltdown on the Horizon compiles four tracks from a session helmed by drummer Frank Attard in the band’s native Canberra, Australia, as he, bassist Lachlan Paine and guitarist Paul Attard set themselves to a four-track/54-minute stretch of cosmic meandering, rife with effects and an improvisational energy that affects even the most spaced-out of moments, like the midsection of 22-minute opener and longest inclusion (immediate points) “Rollback,” as the band depart the initial solo-topped groove and funky display for more atmospheric turns before gradually making their way back with the guitar in the lead. It’s not a minor journey and it’s not intended to be, but the last album was arranged as one long, 39-minute track and a six-minute reprise, so neither is it the farthest Frozen Planet….1969 have gone down that road.

More importantly, it harnesses a gorgeous, organic kind of chaos, with a hypnotic spread of float above a molten river of groove, all natural and emblematic of a sincere will to explore musically, the band dug into the joy of their own creation, starting off in medias res as though we, the audience, join their journey already in progress, which of course we do. And long before they come around to the drums picking up in “Rollback” as the song heads into its 17th minute and winding final realization en route to “Bellhop Shindig” (8:11), “Dandy Chai” (6:41) and “Sunset Variations” (17:01), the trio have locked in the essential character that will define Meltdown on the Horizon in the song’s psychedelic persona, a heavy acid rock spirit emerging that continues into “Bellhop Shindig,” which is no less jazzy than the title might indicate, as Paine‘s bass holds together the flow of drums and guitar surrounding, bridging the gap that’s essential in crafting the spaciousness of the record on the whole. Cool vibe? Yeah, cool vibe. They’ve got it locked down.

When it comes to this kind of jam-based heavy psychedelic instrumentalism, I’m usually a proponent of a conscious listen. That is, in the face of trippy sonics and go-anywhere adventuring, I’ll mostly argue in favor of keeping your wits about you and paying attention to what the band are doing in order to most enjoy it. You know, listening to a record by listening to it. Not a particularly deep concept. And I’m not about to tell you not to give Meltdown on the Horizon the consideration it deserves. I will say though that there’s also a value to engaging with the ultra-chill moments of “Sunset Variations” or “Dandy Chai” on that existential level as well — just sharing the same headspace. This is particularly true of the penultimate cut, which is the shortest of the four as noted above, since its structure seems to kind of come apart about two minutes before it’s done and leave Paul in the position of weaving out pulled guitar notes on an intertwining delay, hypnotic and minimal compared to some of the other stretches on the record, but again, a wholly organic moment.

And one that’s well worth experiencing consciously, but also one that’s a whole lot of fun to just kind of go with. Seven albums deep, Frozen Planet….1969 have more than earned the benefit of the doubt, I think, and even as they lose track of where they’re heading on “Dandy Chai,” including that is purposeful. It’s not just about some “well, we’ll put in a missed note to sound natural” kind of thing, and it’s not that they don’t care. It’s the risk you run in doing improv, and the way in which you roll with it. Shit, Frozen Planet….1969 are giving life lessons, never mind jamming out. They’re telling you how to read their work even as they’re performing it. Just go with it. How could you not want to do that, especially when they pull it off so effectively moving into the subdued start of “Sunset Variations?”

But just to be clear: I’m not saying Meltdown on the Horizon is background music. It’s not. “Bellhop Shindig” is way too busy being funky cosmic boogie to be relegated to the background of anything, and while “Rollback” is hypnotic, it never loses its sense of purpose. What I’m saying is that Frozen Planet….1969‘s explorations hold up to multiple kinds of listens. You can sit and analyze every turn they make throughout “Rollback” and “Sunset Variations,” catch the moment where “Dandy Chai” begins to kind of pull itself apart, or get down with “Bellshop Shindig” note for airy note. I’m not arguing against that. Do it. But the next time you put it on, be aware that Meltdown on the Horizon can hold its own and hold attention without that kind of direct engagement.

It’s a strong enough performance on the part of the band to carry the audience through from one end to the other, and even when there’s a bump in that path, they’re experienced enough to ride it out and go where it takes them. This is the sign, ultimately, of a band who have mastered their approach — at least as much as one can when so much of that approach is improv — and who are not only in control of what they do, but are strong enough to cede that control when it suits the work they’re doing. That ability makes Meltdown on the Horizon an all the more exciting listen, no matter how one engages with it, and it shows both the depth of the chemistry between the Attards and Paine, and the continued daring they bring to their output and their off-the-cuff composition style. The former and the latter alike serve them well here, and their raw creativity earns every single kind of listen it will get.

Frozen Planet….1969, Meltdown on the Horizon (2019)

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[Click play above to stream Frozen Planet….1969’s The Heavy Medicinal Grand Exposition in its entirety. Album is out Nov. 1 on Pepper Shaker Records and HeadSpin Records.]

Step right up, don’t be shy. One has to wonder when it comes to the sixth — count ’em, six — full-length outing from ellipse-inclusive Sydney/Canberra psychedelic improv specialists Frozen Planet….1969 as to which came first, the concept or the execution. That is, The Heavy Medicinal Grand Exposition is a somewhat weighty title, and obviously that’s on purpose as the classic power trio of guitarist Paul Attard, bassist Lachlan Paine and drummer Frank Attard, being entirely instrumental, lean on the cartoon artwork and the liner notes of the CD and LP — released by Pepper Shaker and HeadSpin Records, respectively — to tell the story. That’s not to say the record itself, which is comprised of one 39-minute title-track broken down into six subtitled parts and a six-minute follow-up called “Encore: A Herbal Miracle,” isn’t plenty malleable.

Indeed, in sound, open structure and form, Frozen Planet….1969 jam and jam and jam and jam their way into the greater reaches of Far Out, a naturalist production helmed by Frank keeping some human presence in mind behind all the willful instrumental meandering that, all things considered, isn’t nearly as effects-baked as it could be, even in the latest stretch of the “The Heavy Medicinal Grand Exposition” itself. But they go where they want to go, and of course, the live feel of the recording is one of its most essential facets. For something that’s at least in some part made up on the spot, that’s bound to be the case, which leads back to the initial question of which came first, the story or the jam.

Does it really matter to the listening experience? I suppose not. It’s possible to put on “The Heavy Medicinal Grand Exposition” without engaging Doctor Berner or reading in the liner notes about his traveling show selling the miracle herbal elixir to relieve pain and ward off evil, strengthen body and mind, and so on. But it’s not nearly as much fun, and Frozen Planet….1969 sound well like they’re enjoying the process of creating the album on the spot. Shouldn’t the listener endeavor to do the same with the listening experience?

Thus we meet the Swordsman, the Juggler, Sundae, Doctor Berner himself and the rest in the title-track. Conveniently, they’ve split the 39-minute piece up into subsections. On the vinyl it all plays together naturally, so whether one thinks of it as one or six different cuts is moot. On the CD and digital versions, though, we see the band purposefully linking the pieces together as the single jam that they are. The list of subsections reads accordingly:

The Heavy Medicinal Grand Exposition:
I. Oddball Sundae (00:00-05:15)
II. The Juggler (05:16-10:08)
III. Introducing… Oxandra Lanceolata (10:09-16:26)
IV. The Talking Juice (16:27-27:31)
V. Swords for Hire (27:32-31:47)
VI. Never Should Have Left Town with a Whistling Monkey by My Side (31:48-39:25)

There’s a lot of information packed into those subtitles. ‘The Talking Juice’ refers to the potion itself. ‘Swords for Hire’ has a companion Swordsman as seen in an executioner’s hood on the front cover standing next to Oxandra Lanceolata, also on the cover holding — for some reason — a bonsai tree. The art is meant to evoke a comic book sensibility — we see Doctor Berner in the top left corner where the comic company logo and issue price might otherwise be — and that tends to give the whole affair a lighthearted feel suited to the music itself, which is laid back even at its most active points, the title-track getting funky in ‘The Juggler’ or jamming into a classic fuzz solo in ‘The Talking Juice’ after the “hubba hubba” of pulled notes and spaced-out guitar echoes in “Introducing… Oxandra Lanceolata.” Part of the fun of engaging with The Heavy Medicinal Grand Exposition becomes reading these things into it.

And yeah, if they had elected to do a futuristic sci-fi theme instead of an old traveling medicine show, it would probably be just as easy to hear a cosmic pastiche in the spacey wanderings that take hold in ‘The Talking Juice’ and the lonely reach of feedback in ‘Never Should Have Left Town with a Whistling Monkey by My Side,’ the bass and drums holding the jam together beneath the floating guitar overhead, but the point is they didn’t. The Attards and Paine created the characters and the theme they wanted to use and set about bringing that concept to life as a full experience of the album. That’s exactly why The Heavy Medicinal Grand Exposition works as well as it does. It’s a complete, multi-level realization of its central idea.

So which came first, the music or the theme? Hell if I know. What’s more important is that the two work side by side to give a whole impression through both the title-track and the complementary “Encore: A Herbal Miracle” that wants nothing either in narrative presentation or actual sonic execution. They finish the second jam with jazzy punches of guitar, bass and drums, odd-time strumming and kick cutting off suddenly to bring the record to its end, and by so doing, they reinforce the notion of The Heavy Medicinal Grand Exposition as a work of improv. It’s there while it’s there and then it’s over. There’s no real grand finale to it. The jam just concludes and then, presumably, it’ll be on to the next one.

Fair enough. The Heavy Medicinal Grand Exposition is Frozen Planet….1969‘s sixth LP since 2012, directly following 2017’s From the Centre of a Parallel Universe (review here) and Electric Smokehouse (review here), so they’re used to a quick turnaround. Whenever their next offering surfaces, the fact that they’ve put so much into the conceptual foundation of this one can only help them as they move forward, and whether they work with another specific plotline or not, the mere fact that The Heavy Medicinal Grand Exposition was approached with a sense of storytelling is bound to make the listening experience that much richer. It certainly does here.

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Sydney-based trio Comacozer aren’t exactly keeping secrets when it comes to what they’re going for with their sound. Among the four extended tracks of Kalos Eidos Skopeo, which is ostensibly their third album — their first having been comprised of two prior EPs; their second being 2016’s Astra Planeta (review here) — the band blend cosmic expanse and earthbound heft to immersion-geared instrumentalism across nearly an hour’s runtime. Their ambition is to entrance more than pummel, but that doesn’t mean a song like “Mystagmus” or the preceding opener “Axis Mundi” don’t have stretches within them that come across Sleep-derived enough to make one wish Al Cisneros would enter with a ritualistically-patterned verse, just that there’s more going on within the 52 minutes of the Headspin Records release than the rolling of riffs.

Some of the album’s most effective moments are its most cosmic, and with the additional flourish provided by the synth of Frank Attard — who also engineered and mixed the recording and drums in psych-improv specialists Frozen Planet….1969 — alongside the guitars of Rick Burke, the bass of Rich Elliott and Andrew Panagopoulos‘ drums, a sense of progression is palpable from the last record to this one. All the more, perhaps, because the songs themselves have grown bigger in keeping with the overall sound, and become longer and more immersive, and when one considers that Attard has helmed each of Comacozer‘s records to-date, it argues all the more that the progression the band has undertaken is willful. That is to say, they’ve settled into a process of craft and know what they want to do aesthetically, so what’s happening with Kalos Eidos Skopeo is the next stage of that process being realized.

It’s also hypnotic as hell. There is not one among the four inclusions — “Axis Mundi” (13:39), “Nystagmus” (12:25), “Hylonomus” (13:43) and “Enuma Elish” (12:58) — that doesn’t lull the listener away from what one generally thinks of as consciousness, and in terms of the overarching breadth of the thing, it’s telling that Comacozer begin with a track that references the tree connecting earth and the ethereal and end with one that calls out the ancient Babylonian myth of creation. If one keeps in mind the early instrumental meanderings of My Sleeping Karma, then before “Axis Mundi” swells in volume just before the 10-minute mark, the track seems to spread itself out in a similar fashion, but it’s really just the first stage of the larger submersion that plays out, and “Nystagmus” — the title of which derives from a medical condition in which one’s eye makes rapid and uncontrolled movements — runs perhaps even deeper.

Again with Attard‘s synth work as a major factor, “Nystagmus” executes a long-form linear build, setting itself forward, but seeming to plateau for a while, look around itself, and mindfully drift. The effect on the audience is utterly serene. It gets denser, louder and more actively rolling in the back half as it begins to come to a head, but there are a few minutes there where Comacozer actually make it seem like time has jumped. Burke and Elliott offer such warmth of tone and Panagopoulos such care in his percussive flow, that it’s almost impossible not to get lost in the progression of the resulting work. I am somebody who listens to a lot of psychedelic rock. A lot. I listen to a lot of heavy jams. Very few seem to pull one away from their own brain in the way “Nystagmus” does. It’s a triumph of chill.

Comacozer only increase their overall reach from that point. “Hylonomus” — named for one of the earliest or perhaps even the first of the reptiles — begins with Eastern-inflected strum and moves in its first minute to guitar drift joined soon by the bass and drums, carrying an early tension but holding it until seemingly the last possible minute. As a build, it is more linear but perhaps not as subtle as “Nystagmus” before it, but once again, the fluidity with which the band brings it to life resounds with its liquidity. This doesn’t sound like a compliment but it is one in context because I think it’s what they’re going for: It might actually put you to sleep.

And when it wants you to wake up — the escalating drums leading a forward charge that starts at 11:22 — it’s the most active Comacozer get at any point on Kalos Eidos Skopeo, with a genuine surge in tempo that neither “Nystagmus” nor “Axis Mundi” brought to bear, and from which “Enuma Elish” soon enough departs again to reset the base from which it will embark on one last excursion into the outer edges of the atmosphere. It is encouraging to hear the way in which heft and ambient spaces coexist throughout Kalos Eidos Skopeo — which trims down its 52-minute runtime for the vinyl edition — and the sheer patience of the work as a whole, but worth emphasizing that while the three-maybe-four-piece have established a place for themselves within this sphere, there’s still room for them to progress in how they function structurally and in how their songs are framed, whether that’s achieved through bringing a sense of variety to the proceedings by further expanding arrangements or simply changing up when they get louder in a given piece.

It’s also important to remember they’re still only a year out from what was essentially their first record, so there’s plenty of time for that development to happen, and the commitment to all things molten they show throughout this colorful offering bodes significantly well for their longer-term prospects. One hopes they keep exploring with the vigor and obvious passion they do here.

Comacozer, Kalos Eidos Skopeo (2017)

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In look and sonic vibe, Frozen Planet 1969 seem to be shooting for that obscure, lost private press LP heavy you pick up unknowningly from the rack at your favorite musty shop, take to the counter, and promptly receive — rightly so — a lecture on how frickin’ awesome it is. All you can do is nod your head in vague agreement and roll with it until you get home and realize how correct that trusty clerk was. The Australian heavy psych jammers — who also stylize their name with an elongated ellipse: Frozen Planet….1969 — will issue Electric Smokehouse on Jan. 11, with vinyl out through Headspin Records and CD/DL from Pepper Shaker Records. I’d never presume to play the role of the store clerk, but they’ve got the song “Supersaturation” from the new outing streaming now, and it’s a tasty bit of fluidity sure to consume the converted. By all means, dig in.

They got in touch over subspace frequencies and sent this down the PR wire:

New Frozen Planet….1969 album

New album by Frozen Planet….1969 ‘Electric Smokehouse’. This is the band’s fourth album. It contains more of the heavy-psych instrumental experimental improvisation the band has become known for! ‘Electric Smokehouse’ will be released very early in the new year- January 11 2017. It will be available on vinyl in black or transparent purple in a gatefold sleeve on Headspin Records and on CD and digitally via Pepper Shaker.

The vinyl version can be found on the Shiny Beast mail-order website and there will also be some copies available via the Pepper shaker Records Bandcamp page. The CD and digital versions will be available via the Pepper Shaker Records Bandcamp page.

Although the band name suggests otherwise, Frozen Planet….1969 dates back to early 2012! It was then that a heavy-psych jam session between two Sydney-based musicians, Paul and Frank Attard, and Canberra-based Lachlan Paine, took place.

Luckily, this afternoon of improvisation at the home of Pepper Shaker Records, Frank Street Studio, was recorded. However, it wasn’t until over a year later that the three decided they should finally mix and release some of the material they had created that day. Paul and Frank had been playing in the stoner-doom band, Mother Mars. Lachlan was playing in the Canberra heavy rock trio, Looking Glass. After playing on numerous bills together over the years it seemed only natural there would be some sort of collaboration between the two bands at some point.

Frozen Planet….1969 played its first show in February 2014. It was also around this time that the band recorded another mammoth jam session. From this jam session came the second and third releases for the band, “Lost Traveller Chronicles, Volume 1” (released 20th August 2014) and “Lost Traveller Chronicles, Volume 2” (released 6th May 2015). The concept this time would be a travel journal through the constellations, with each song being a chapter from the journal! Both volumes were released in digital and physical format on Pepper Shaker Records. The physical format for Volume 1 was a limited 10-inch vinyl and for Volume 2 the format was CD.

To date, the band has only played a handful of shows. Each show has been uniquely different with the band continuously jamming for thirty to forty minutes. No rehearsal necessary. Every time Frozen Planet….1969 gets together it’s either to record or play live. All improvised!

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Frozen Planet 1969, “Supersaturation”

It’s almost 100 percent certain that’s their origin, but I don’t think it’s appropriate to call the five tracks on Comacozer‘s debut LP, Astra Planeta, jams. There are moments that definitely give an air of spontaneity to the outing, whether that’s the initial unfolding textural nod of “Saurian Dream” or the guitar-led flourish that factors so significantly into closer “Hypnotized by Apophis,” but the course overall feels plotted, and with the blend of psychedelic and heavier impulses that the Sydney-based trio have on offer throughout the 41-minute HeadSpin Records LP, presented in clear/black or clear/purple gatefold vinyl with art by Fever Dog guitarist Danny Graham, there’s some measure of comfort in that.

Of course, Comacozer aren’t exactly entering into their first album blind. Astra Planeta follows behind two EPs in 2014’s Sessions and 2015’s Deloun that wound up combined and pressed to vinyl as — wait for it – Deloun Sessions, but where that was very clearly drawing a line between two early outings, Astra Planeta draws a significant amount of its purpose from exacting a linear flow across its two sides, split with three cuts on side A and two longer ones on side B, opting it would seem for maximum immersion at all times, whether the source of that is Rich Burke‘s willfully-meandering guitar, Richard Elliott‘s patient basslines or the steady push in Andrew Panagopoulos‘ drumming that seems to hold these proceedings together, giving a song like second track “The Mind that Feeds the Eye” a sense of build late and adding direction to the record as a whole.

The opening that “Saurian Dream” and “The Mind that Feeds the Eye” give to Astra Planeta is key to understanding that direction. In listening, I’ve been trying to determine the source of what I’m hearing so distinctly as an earlier My Sleeping Karma influence. It seems to be in some of the minor-key Easternisms early in “Saurian Dream,” blended with Western heavy psych impulses, and no doubt part of the connection stems from the fact that both groups are instrumental, but I think it has even more to do with the smoothness in Comacozer‘s tones. Layers of watery effects from Burke‘s guitar and the depths in Elliott‘s bass as heard just past the midpoint of the opener as it comes more to the forefront of the mix join together to craft a hypnotic impression that, while still figuring out some elements of its approach — one hopes that growth is a lifelong process for the band only beginning here — is marked in its effect on the listener in a similar manner as the German masters of the form.

Where Comacozer distinguish themselves is in their immediate drive to push beyond this root inspiration, drawing from it the fluidity from which their debut very much benefits and then suiting that to the purposes of their already-noted instrumentalist songwriting, whether that’s the linearity of “The Mind that Feeds the Eye” or the more rhythmically-minded, open structure of “Navigating the Mandjet,” which follows and closes out side A with Panagopoulos expanding the percussive scope amid more adventurous arrangements of guitar, tapping sitar-esque feel and wah-soaked bass as handclaps assure a duly human feel beneath and alongside the earlier ceremonial thrust that gives way to funkier terrain as the three-piece make their way into the second half of the song, which is the shortest on Astra Planeta at 6:21.

It’s fitting for the overarching progression of Astra Planeta that the two lengthiest pieces should follow. One might have a difficult time saying “Illumination Cloud” (8:18) and “Hypnotized by Apophis” (11:38) go further out than any of the first three tracks, since the basic cosmos-bound flow remains largely consistent, but with more time at their disposal, Comacozer do get a chance to show more of the aforementioned spontaneity. Burke‘s solo late in “Illumination Cloud,” which if it isn’t improvised is a close enough approximation over the steady groove offered by the bass and drums — Elliott‘s bass takes over circa 7:30 after that solo drops out and offers a moment to genuinely appreciate his tone shortly before the song ends — as well as in the thicker, early Natas-style fuzz of “Hypnotized by Apophis,” which settles into a march in its second half only after a satisfyingly exploratory midsection in which the low end again shines as the guitar noodles-out in trippy fashion.

Granted, it might ultimately be a familiar blend of styles — heavy, psych, some underpinnings of stoner and doom — but as with any encouraging debut, Astra Planeta presents a telling glimpse of where Comacozer are coming from sound-wise and gives listeners a chance to speculate on where and how they might develop going forward. As to that, the most engaging facets of Astra Planeta prove to be its ultimate immersion, its willingness to subtly engage with expanded layering and arrangements, its tonal warmth and the chemistry beginning to take shape between Burke, Elliott and Panagopoulos. So long as Comacozer can maintain those going forward, the rest should take care of itself naturally, and particularly as naturalism seems to be such a focus for them on Astra Planeta, there should be little to worry about in that regard.

Comacozer, Astra Planeta (2016)

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