Posted in Whathaveyou on April 4th, 2025 by JJ Koczan
If you’ve been keeping up for the last several weeks as Psychedelic Source Records has been making its way through releasing four three-song collections culled from two sets this past February. And there have been various evocations across the first three editions — part one here, part two here, part three here — but that it would end in the future, with keyboardy sounds and a duly cosmic expanse, should probably be no surprise. The Hungarian collective rarely rest on laurels long enough even to press vinyl before they’re on to the next thing, and you can see in the update below, there’s mention of two other upcoming releases. One is a collab and one is a third session at the goatfarm, which immediately sends my brain down a sentimental rabbithole since I was there for the first.
And if you’re saying to yourself that surely such a rad, once-in-a-lifetime-for-some-schlub-from-New-Jersey experience would bias me in favor of Psychedelic Source Records forever and so of course I would think a four-week series of jams, as always, improvised and recorded live, is awesome, then my answer back to you is yeah, you’re probably right. I think that’s kind of how being a fan works, and if you want a reason to be a fan, Psychedelic Riffage From Under the Ground of Budapest, the whole series right up to what these tracks bring to it, should serve handily. All the more if you’re the type to admire creative openness. From where I sit it’s been a pleasure to keep up. A little spoiling, even.
The info from Bandcamp and all four streaming players follow here. Would be a decent way to spend your day, is all I’m saying. Either way, enjoy:
Psychedelic Riffage From Under the Ground of Budapest Vol. 4
Hi All, the last piece of our live release pack is out now. 4 sessions on 4 albums.
Mellow stuff with heavy parts, trumpet, keyboard in sight.
Anyway, we have some surprise vinyl releases in the pressing plant now, and the third goatfarm session is planned to get done in June.
Also another beautiful vinyl release is in process and we jammed with a surprise dude from Japan, who is the member of our far-favourite psych rock band ever ;) We recorded that session, progression just started.
Thank you for all your support have a great springtime.
1. Feel of Fuel 12:10 2. Echoes From the Future I 07:29 3. Echoes From the Future II 17:21
released April 4, 2025
Bass – Gergely Szabo Drums – Nikosz Tasos Vangelisz Guitars – Bence Ambrus Trumpet and keys – Miklos Kerner Art – Parahobo
Posted in Whathaveyou on March 28th, 2025 by JJ Koczan
It’d be real easy to get spoiled with Psychedelic Source Records dropping weekly jams like the Hungarian collective have been these last couple weeks with the four-part series, Psychedelic Riffage From Under the Ground of Budapest. As the Vol. 3 in the title indicates, this is part three — part one here, part two here; both also below because I’m not here for money and don’t actually care about or even track clicks — and it comes from the second of two nights the PSR collective took stage at Riff Budapest to support Great Rift and Black Flamingo playing improv jams.
Getting one live record out of one set is pretty solid. Getting two out of two sets, doubly impressive. With Psychedelic Source Records, since it’s all made up on the spot, unless something breaks — and if it does, there’s always a bit of clever editing — the point is exploration, so anytime these folks are somewhere with a tape running, they can potentially get something out of it. Four releases out of two sets? Well that’s just unmatched psychedelic efficiency, my friends.
On Psychedelic Riffage From Under the Ground of Budapest Vol. III, once again the format and cover art are consistent — killer hippo and three jams of varying length. In this case, the spirit is a little mellower as noted below, but with the bit of dub divergence in “Flowers and Baguettes,” and the soothing breadth of the entirety, given jazzy fluidity through slow pulls of trupmet, effects and so on. As regards methodology, it’s standard practice for Psychedelic Source Records to show up and do this kind of thing, but the results across these last couple weeks have been something special. I look forward to another chapter next week as the series wraps.
Here’s the info and such from Bandcamp, plus all the streams:
Psychedelic Riffage From Under the Ground of Budapest Vol. 3
Happened on 21 and 22 February: Parahobo organized a double gig for Great Rift and Black Flamingo at Riff Budapest, one of the last bastions of the real underground in Hungary.
Asked us to jam instead of a simple support band. So we set the gear up, played and recorded 4 sets in this 2 days. All sessions turned out nice, so we decided to release all of them.
This was the first session on the second day, one of the best for sure. The mellow psych rock, Máté sit behind the drums (appears in Slight Layers and a lot of sessions) Microdosemike’s Miki on trumpet and keyboard.
1. Laudanum Drops 15:18 2. Flowers and Baguettes 13:12 3. El Campo 08:09
released March 28, 2025
Bass – David Strausz Drums – Mate Varga Guitars – Akos Karancz and Gergely Szabo Trumpet and keys – Miklos Kerner Art – Parahobo
Posted in Whathaveyou on March 21st, 2025 by JJ Koczan
Watch out for when that trumpet hits in “Opal.” Nobody ever expects the funky trumpet and then — wham! Trumpetfunk all over the floor of the place. Good luck getting that stain out.
As the title suggests, Psychedelic Riffage From Under the Ground of Budapest Vol. 2 is the second installment to be issued in the series. It follows behind last week’s Psychedelic Riffage From Under the Ground of Budapest Vol. 1 (discussed here) and follows that outing’s three-track format, though as noted below, the two sets — two of four; stay tuned next week — have different personalities between them. “Hold” follows “Opal” and reminds with its synth line and jazzy rhythm of something Causa Sui might conjure, while “White Falcon” feels all safe in its drift until ending up surprisingly heavy in its push for something made up on the spot. Its last crashout after nearly 16 minutes of sprawl is a welcome relief of the tension they’ve built.
Like I said, there are two more sets on the way, but this is something to dig into while you make your way through next week en route to Vol. 3. See you there:
Psychedelic Riffage From Under the Ground of Budapest Vol. 2
Happened on 21 and 22 February: Parahobo organized a double gig for Great Rift and Black Flamingo at Riff Budapest, one of the last bastions of the real underground in Hungary.
Asked us to jam instead of a simple support band. So we set the gear up, played and recorded 4 sets in this 2 days. All sessions turned out nice, so we decided to release all of them.
From 14 of March we load a session up to bandcamp every week.
For the second session on friday, Miki joined to us also, we set up the trumpet and the moog, it took some time but came out beautifully irregular. Behind the drums we got Sanya from TPSRPRT/ Jaikogian, this session is more post-rock and kraut.
Tracklisting; 1. Opal 07:56 2. Hold 10:38 3. White Falcon 15:51
released March 21, 2025
Bass – Robert Kranitz Drums – Sandor Nagy Guitars – Akos Karancz and Bence Ambrus Trumpet and keys – Miklos Kerner Art – Parahobo
Posted in Whathaveyou on March 17th, 2025 by JJ Koczan
Released this past Friday and recorded a scant four weeks ago, Psychedelic Riffage From Under the Ground of Budapest Vol. 1 marks the beginning of a four-part series of offerings to come from Psychedelic Source Records. The next one, as I understand it, will be out this Friday, with volumes three and four out March 28 and April 4, respectively. If you think a four-part weekly series of releases is a lot, you’re right, but as it’s all already been recorded and as this is by no means Psychedelic Source Records‘ first time at the dance of being prolific, there’s little doubt of their completing the set as they’ve laid it out.
This first volume, though, brings three extended jams carved out of longer excursions that brim with improvisational exploring, tripped-out effects sprawl and in the case of “Neddy Lows,” a whole shoegazey bluesy stretch before the second half lines up behind a more forward riff, the conversation between players seeming to be such that everybody knew where they were headed before actually knowing. As far as brand names you can trust, Psychedelic Source Records are second to none in my mind for the individual nature of the collective and the consistent quality of the jams they put out. Three more weeks of this, you say? See you on Friday.
Much to their credit, PSR is off most social media at this point, but the Bandcamp link lets you follow and that’s three recommended play here as far as I’m concerned. Like everything they put out, this is name-your-price. Recording details, links and the audio follow, taken from that same Bandcamp page:
Psychedelic Riffage From Under the Ground of Budapest Vol. 1
Happened on 21 and 22 February: Parahobo organized a double gig for Great Rift and Black Flamingo at Riff Budapest, one of the last bastions of the real underground in Hungary.
Asked us to jam instead of a simple support band. So we set the gear up, played and recorded 4 sets in this 2 days. All sessions turned out nice, so we decided to release all of them.
From 14 of march we’re gonna load a session up to Bandcamp every week.
The original plan for the first session was that Robi will play the Bass but they swapped with Strausz in the last min, so it became a secret :nepaal gig at the beginning. You’ll hear signs of it.
released March 14, 2025
Tracklisting: 1. Caves of Glass 11:15 2. Neddy Lows 18:55 3. The Fall of the Great Protanopian 12:18
Bass – David Strausz Drums – Krisztian Megyeri Guitars – Akos Karancz and Bence Ambrus Art – Parahobo
Posted in Reviews on December 12th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
Day four of five for this snuck-in-before-the-end-of-the-year Quarterly Review, and I’m left wondering if maybe it won’t be worth booking another week for January or early February, and if that happens, is it still “quarterly” at that point if you do it like six times a year? ‘Bimonthly Quality Control Assessments’ coming soon! Alert your HR supervisors to tell your servers of any allergies.
No, not really.
I’ll figure out a way to sandwich more music into this site if it kills me. Which I guess it might. Whatever, let’s do this thing.
Quarterly Review #31-40
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Sergeant Thunderhoof, The Ghost of Badon Hill
A marked accomplishment in progressive heavy rock, The Ghost of Badon Hill is the fifth full-length from UK five-piece Sergeant Thunderhoof, who even without the element of surprise on their side — which is to say one is right to approach the 45-minute six-tracker with high expectations based on the band’s past work; their last LP was 2022’s This Sceptred Veil(review here) — rally around a folklore-born concept and deliver the to-date album of their career. From the first emergence of heft in “Badon” topped with Daniel Flitcroft soar-prone vocals, Sergeant Thunderhoof — guitarists Mark Sayer and Josh Gallop, bassist Jim Camp and drummer Darren Ashman, and the aforementioned Flitcroft — confidently execute their vision of a melodic riffprog scope. The songs have nuance and character, the narrative feels like it moves through the material, there are memorable hooks and grand atmospheric passages. It is by its very nature not without some indulgent aspects, but also a near-perfect incarnation of what one might ask it to be.
The stated objective of Swallow the Sun‘s Shining was for less misery, and fair enough as the Finnish death-doomers have been at it for about a quarter of a century now and that’s a long time to feel so resoundingly wretched, however relatably one does it. What does less-misery sound like? First of all, still kinda miserable. If you know Swallow the Sun, they are still definitely recognizable in pieces like “Innocence Was Long Forgotten,” “What I Have Become” and “MelancHoly,” but even the frontloading of these singles — don’t worry, from “Kold” and the ultra Type O Negative-style “November Dust” (get it?), to the combination of floating, dancing keyboard lines and drawn out guitars in the final reaches of the title-track, they’re not short on highlights — conveys the modernity brought into focus. Produced by Dan Lancaster (Bring Me the Horizon, A Day to Remember, Muse), the songs are in conversation with the current sphere of metal in a way that Swallow the Sun have never been, broadening the definition of what they do while retaining a focus on craft. They’re professionals.
Trillion Ton Beryllium Ships, The Mind Like Fire Unbound
Where’s the intermittently-crushing sci-fi-concept death-stoner, you ask? Well, friend, Lincoln, Nebraska’s Trillion Ton Beryllium Ships would like to have a word, and on The Mind Like Fire Unbound, there’s a non-zero chance that word will come in the form of layered death metal growls and rasping throatripper screams representing an insectoid species about to tear more-melodically-voiced human colonizers to pieces. The 45-minute LP’s 14-minute opener “BUGS” that lays out this warning is followed by the harsh, cosmic-paranoia conjuration of “Dark Forest” before a pivot in 8:42 centerpiece “Infinite Inertia” — and yes, the structure of the tracks is purposeful; longest at the open and close with shorter pieces on either side of “Infinite Inertia” — takes the emotive cast of Pallbearer to an extrapolated psychedelic metalgaze, huge and broad and lumbering. Of course the contrast is swift in the two-minute “I Hate Space,” but where one expects more bludgeonry, the shortest inclusion stays clean vocally amid its uptempo, Torche-but-not-really push. Organ joins the march in the closing title-track (14:57), which gallops following its extended intro, doom-crashes to a crawl and returns to double-kick behind the encompassing last solo, rounding out with suitable showcase of breadth and intention.
Planet of Zeus make a striking return with their sixth album, Afterlife, basing their theme around mythologies current and past and accompanying that with a sound that’s both less brash than they were a few years back on 2019’s Faith in Physics (review here) and refined in the sharpness and efficiency of its songwriting. It’s a rocker, which is what one has come to expect from these Athens-based veterans. Afterlife builds momentum through desert-style rockers like “Baptized in His Death” and the hooky “No Ordinary Life” and “The Song You Misunderstand,” getting poppish in the stomp of “Bad Milk” only after the bluesy “Let’s Call it Even” and before the punkier “Letter to a Newborn,” going where it wants and leaving no mystery as to how it’s getting there because it doesn’t need to. One of the foremost Greek outfits of their generation, Planet of Zeus show up, tell you what they’re going to do, then do it and get out, still managing to leave behind some atmospheric resonance in “State of Non-Existence.” There’s audible, continued forward growth and kickass tunes. If that sounds pretty ideal, it is.
Cinematic in its portrayal, Le Premier Soleil de Jan Calet positions itself as cosmically minded, and manifests that in sometimes-minimal — effectively so, since it’s hypnotic — aural spaciousness, but Paris’ Human Teorema veer into Eastern-influenced scales amid their exploratory, otherworldly-on-purpose landscaping, and each planet on which they touch down, from “Onirico” (7:43) to “Studiis” (15:54) and “Spedizione” (23:20) is weirder than the last, shifting between these vast passages and jammier stretches still laced with synth. Each piece has its own procession and dynamic, and perhaps the shifts in intent are most prevalent within “Studiis,” but the closer is, on the balance, a banger as well, and there’s no interruption in flow once you’ve made the initial choice to go with Le Premier Soleil de Jan Calet. An instrumental approach allows Human Teorema to embody descriptive impressions that words couldn’t create, and when they decide to hit it hard, they’re heavy enough for the scale they’ve set. Won’t resonate universally (what does?), but worth meeting on its level.
There are two epics north of the 10-minute mark on Caged Wolves‘ maybe-debut LP, A Deserts Tale: “Lost in the Desert” (11:26) right after the intro “Dusk” and “Chaac” (10:46) right before the hopeful outro “Dawn.” The album runs a densely-packed 48 minutes through eight tracks total, and pieces like the distortion-drone-backed “Call of the Void,” the alt-prog rocking “Eleutheromania,” “Laguna,” which is like earlier Radiohead in that it goes somewhere on a linear build, and the spoken-word-over-noise interlude “The Lost Tale” aren’t exactly wanting for proportion, regardless of runtime. The bassline that opens “Call of the Void” alone would be enough to scatter orcs, but that still pales next to “Chaac,” which pushes further and deeper, topping with atmospheric screams and managing nonetheless to come out of the other side of that harsh payoff of some of the album’s most weighted slog in order to bookend and give the song the finish it deserves, completing it where many wouldn’t have been so thoughtful. This impression is writ large throughout and stands among the clearest cases for A Deserts Tale as the beginning of a longer-term development.
I find myself wanting to talk about how big Liminal Escapism sounds, but I don’t mean in terms of tonal proportion so much as the distances that seem to be encompassed by Greek progressive instrumentalists Anomalos Kosmos. With an influence from Grails and, let’s say, 50 years’ worth of prog rock composition (but definitely honoring the earlier end of that timeline), Anomalos Kosmos offer emotional evocation in pieces that feel compact on either side of six or seven minutes, taking the root jams and building them into structures that still come across as a journey. The classy soloing in “Me Orizeis” and synthy shimmer of “Parapatao,” the rumble beneath the crescendo of “Kitonas” and all of that gosh darn flow in “Flow” speak to a songwriting process that is aware of its audience but feels no need to talk down, musically speaking, to feed notions of accessibility. Instead, the immersion and energetic drumming of “Teledos” and the way closer “Cigu” rallies around pastoral fuzz invite the listener to come along on this apparently lightspeed voyage — thankfully not tempo-wise — and allow room for the person hearing these sounds to cast their own interpretations thereof.
One could not hope to fully encapsulate an impression here of nearly three and a half hours of sometimes-improv psych-drone, and I refuse to feel bad for not trying. Instead, I’ll tell you that Grand Fractal Orchestra — the Psychedelic Source Records 3CD edition of which has already sold out — finds Budapest-based guitarist Ákos Karancz deeply engaged in the unfolding sounds here. Layering effects, collaborating with others from the informal PSR collective like zitherist Márton Havlik or singer Krisztina Benus, and so on, Karancz constructs each piece in a way that feels both steered in a direction and organic to where the music wants to go. “Ore Genesis” gets a little frantic around the middle but finds its chill, “Human Habitat” is duly foreboding, and the two-part, 49-minute-total capper “Transforming Time to Space” is beautiful and meditative, like staring at a fountain with your ears. It goes without saying not everybody has the time or the attention span to sit with a release like this, but if you take it one track at a time for the next four years or so, there’s worlds enough in these songs that they’ll probably just keep sinking in. And if Karancz puts outs like five new albums in that time too, so much the better.
It probably goes without saying — at least it should — that while the classic folk fingerplucking of “Whispering Waters” and the Americana-busy “Laurel Creek Blues” give a sweet introduction to Blake Hornsby‘s A Village of Many Springs, inevitably it’s the 23-minute experimentalist spread of the finale, “Bury My Soul in the Linville River,” that’s going to be a focal point for many listeners, and fair enough. The earthbound-cosmic feel of that piece, its devolution into Lennon-circa-1968 tape noise and concluding drone, aren’t at all without preface. A Village of Many Springs gets weirder as it goes, with the eight-minute “Cathedral Falls” building over its time into a payoff of seemingly on-guitar violence, and the subsequent “O How the Water Flows” nestling into a sweet spot between Appalachian nostalgia and foreboding twang. There’s percussion and manipulation of noise later, too, but even in its repetition, “O How the Water Flows” continues Hornsby‘s trajectory. For what’s apparently an ode to water in the region surrounding Hornsby‘s home in Asheville, North Carolina, that it feels fluid should be no surprise, but by no means does one need to have visited Laurel Creek to appreciate the blues Hornsby conjures for them.
With a sensibility in some of the synth of “Hacamat” born of space rock, Congulus have no trouble moving from that to the 1990s-style alt-rock saunter of “Diri Bir Nefes,” furthering the momentum already on the Istanbul-based instrumentalist trio’s side after opener “İskeletin Düğün Halayı” before “Senin Sırlarının Yenilmez Gücünü Gördüm” spaces out its solo over scales out of Turkish folk and “Park” marries together the divergent chugs of Judas Priest and Meshuggah, there’s plenty of adventure to be had on Göçebe. It’s the band’s second full-length behind 2019’s Bozkır — they’ve had short releases between — and it moves from “Park” into the push of “Zarzaram” and “Vordonisi” with efficiency that’s only deceptive because there’s so much stylistic range, letting “Ulak” have its open sway and still bash away for a moment or two before “Sonunda Ah Çekeriz Derinden” closes by tying space rock, Mediterranean traditionalism and modern boogie together in one last jam before consigning the listener back to the harsher, decidedly less utopian vibes of reality.
Posted in Reviews on October 7th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
Oh hi, I didn’t see you there. Me? Oh, you know. Nothing much. Staring off a cliffside about to jump headfirst into a pool of 100 records. The usual.
I’m pretty sure this is the second time this year that a single Quarterly Review has needed to be two weeks long. It’s been a busy year, granted, but still. I keep waiting for the tide to ebb, but it hasn’t really at all. Older bands keep going, or a lot of them do, anyhow — or they come back — and new bands come up. But for all the war, famine, plague and strife and crisis and such, it’s a golden age.
But hey, don’t let me keep you. I’ve apparently been doing QRs since 2013, and I remember trying to find a way to squeeze together similar roundups before it. I have no insight to add about that, it’s just something I dug back to find out the other day and was surprised because 11 years of this kind of thing is a really long gosh darn time.
On that note, let’s go.
Quarterly Review #1-10:
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Agusa, Noir
The included bits of Swedish dialogue from the short film for which Agusa‘s Noir was written to serve as a soundtrack would probably ground the proceedings some if I spoke Swedish, admittedly. As it is, those voices become part of the dream world the Malmö-based otherwise-instrumentalist adventurers conjure across 15 at times wildly divergent pieces. In arrangement and resultant mood, from the ’70s piano sentimentality of “Ljusglimtar” to the darker church organ and flute workings of “Stad i mörker,” which is reprised as a dirge at the end, the tracks are evocative across a swath of atmospheres, and it’s not all drones or background noise. They get their rock in, and if you stick around for “Kalkbrottets hemlighet,” you get to have the extra pleasure of hearing the guitar eat the rest of the song. You could say that’s not a thing you care about hearing but I know it’d be a lie, so don’t bother. If you’ve hesitated to take on Agusa in the past because sometimes generally-longform instrumental progressive psychedelic heavy rock can be a lot when you’re trying to get to know it, consider Noir‘s shorter inclusions a decent entry point to the band. Each one is like a brief snippet serving as another demonstration of the kind of immersion they can bring to what they play.
With an assembled cast of singers that includes Mikko Kotamäki (Swallow the Sun), his Amorphis bandmates Tomi Koivusaari and Tomi Joutsen, Petri Eskelinen of Rapture, and Barren Earth bandmate Jón Aldará, and guests on lead guitar and a drummer from the underappreciated Mannhai, and Barren Earth‘s keyboardist sitting in for good measure, bassist Olli Pekka-Laine harnesses a spectacularly Finnish take on proggy death-psych metal for Octoploid‘s first long-player, Beyond the Aeons. The songs feel extrapolated from Amorphis circa Elegy, putting guttural vocals to folk inspired guitar twists and prog-rock grooves, but aren’t trying to be that at all, and as ferocious as it gets, there’s always some brighter element happening, something cosmic or folkish or on the title-track both, and Octoploid feels like an expression of creative freedom based on a vision of a kind of music Pekka-Laine wanted to hear. I want to hear it too.
The Obscure River Experiment, as a group collected together for the live performance from which The Ore has been culled, may or may not be a band. It is comprised of players from the sphere of Psychedelic Source Records, and so as members of River Flows Reverse, Obscure Supersession Collective, Los Tayos and others collaborate here in these four periodically scorching jams — looking at you, middle of “Soul’s Shiver Pt. 2” — it could be something that’ll happen again next week or next never. Not knowing is part of the fun, because as far out as something like The Obscure River Experiment might and in fact does go, there’s chemistry enough between all of these players to hold it together. “Soul Shiver Pt. 1” wakes up and introduces the band, “Pt. 2” blows it out for a while, “I See Horses” gets funky and then blows it out, and “The Moon in Flesh and Bone” feels immediately ceremonial with its sustained organ notes, but becomes a cosmic boogie ripper, complete with a welcome return of vocals. Was it all made up on the spot? Was it all a dream? Maybe both?
Way underhyped South Carolinian progressive heavy rockers Shun arrive at the sound of their second LP, Dismantle, able to conjure elements of The Cure and Katatonia alongside Cave In-style punk-born groove, but in Shun‘s case, the underlying foundation is noise rock, so when “Aviator” opens up to its hook or “NRNS” is suddenly careening pummel or “Drawing Names” half-times the drums to get bigger behind the forward/obvious-focal-point vocal melodies of Matt Whitehead (ex-Throttlerod), there’s reach and impact working in conjunction with a thoughtful songwriting process pushed forward from where on their 2021 self-titled debut (review here) but that still seems to be actively working to engage the listener. That’s not a complaint, mind you, especially since Dismantle succeeds to vividly in doing so, and continues to offer nuance and twists on the plot right up to the willful slog ending with (most of) “Interstellar.”
No Man’s Valley, Chrononaut Cocktail Bar/Flight of the Sloths
Whether it’s the brooding Nick Cave-style cabaret minimalism of “Creepoid Blues,” the ’60s psych of “Love” or the lush progressivism that emerges in “Seeing Things,” the hook of “Shapeshifter” or “Orange Juice” coming in with shaker at the end to keep things from finishing too melancholy, the first half of No Man’s Valley‘s Chrononaut Cocktail Bar/Flight of the Sloths still can only account for part of the scope as they set forth the pastoralist launch of the 18-minute “Flight of the Sloths” on side B, moving from acoustic strum and a repeating title line into a gradual build effective enough so that when Jasper Hesselink returns on vocals 13 minutes later in the spaced-out payoff — because yes, the sloths are flying between planets; was there any doubt? — it makes you want to believe the sloths are out there working hard to stay in the air. The real kicker? No Man’s Valley are no less considered in how they bring “Flight of the Sloths” up and down across its span than they are “Love” or “Shapeshifter” early on, both under three minutes long. And that’s what maturing as songwriters can do for you, though No Man’s Valley have always had a leg up in that regard.
Dallas’ Land Mammal defy expectation a few times over on their second full-length, with the songwriting of Will Weise and Kinsley August turning toward greater depth of arrangement and more meditative atmospheres across the nine songs/34 minutes of Emergence, which even in a rolling groove like “Divide” has room for flute and strings. Elsewhere, sitar and tanpura meet with lap steel and keyboard as Land Mammal search for an individual approach to modern progressive heavy. There’s some shades of Elder in August‘s approach on “I Am” or the earlier “Tear You Down,” but the instrumental contexts surrounding are wildly different, and Land Mammal thrive in the details, be it the hand-percussion and far-back fuzz colliding on “The Circle,” or the tabla and sitar, drums and keys as “Transcendence (Part I)” and “Transcendence (Part II)” finish, the latter with the sounds of getting out of the car and walking in the house for epilogue. Yeah, I guess after shifting the entire stylistic scope of your band you’d probably want to go inside and rest for a bit. Well earned.
Released through Majestic Mountain Records, the debut full-length from Forgotten King, The Seeker, would seem to have been composed and recorded entirely by Azul Josh Bisama, also guitarist in Kal-El, though a full lineup has since formed. That happens. Just means the second album will have a different dynamic than the first, and there are some parts as in the early cut “Lost” where that will be a benefit as Azul Josh refines the work laying out a largesse-minded, emotively-evocative approach on these six cuts, likewise weighted and soaring. The album is nothing if not aptly-named, though, as Forgotten King lumber through “Drag” and march across 10 minutes of stately atmospheric doom, eventually seeing the melodic vocals give way to harsher fare in the second half, what’s being sought seems to have been found at least on a conceptual level, and one might say the same of “Around the Corner” or “The Sun” taking familiar-leaning desert rock progressions and doing something decisively ‘else’ with them. Very much feels like the encouraging beginning of a longer exploration.
Branched off from drummer/synthesist Paul Williams‘ intermittent work over the decades with Quarkspace, the mostly-solo-project Church of Hed explores progressive, kraut and space rock in a way one expects far more from Denmark than Columbus, Ohio — to wit, Jonathan Segel (Øresund Space Collective, Camper Van Beethoven) guests on violin, bass and guitar at various points throughout the nine-tracker, which indeed is about an hour long at 57 minutes. Church of Hed‘s last outing, 2022’s The Father Road, was an audio travelogue crossing the United States from one coast to the other. The Fifth Hour is rarely so concerned with terrestrial impressionism, and especially in its longer-form pieces “Pleiades Waypoint” (13:50), “Son of a Silicon Rogue” (14:59) or “The Fifth Hour” (8:43), it digs into sci-fi prog impulses that even in the weird blips and robot twists of the interlude “Aniluminescence 2” or the misshapen techno in the closing semi-reprise “Bastard Son of The Fifth Hour” never quite feels as dystopian as some other futures in the multiverse, and that becomes a strength.
Like the Melvins on an AC/DC kick or what you might get if you took ’70s arena rock, put it in a can and shook it really, really hard, Italian duo Zolle are a burst of weirdo sensation on their fifth full-length, Rosa. The songs are ready for whatever football match stadium P.A. you might want to put them on — hugely, straight-ahead, uptempo, catchy, fun in pieces like “Pepe” and “Lana” at the outset, “Merda,” “Pompon,” “Confetto” and “Fiocco” later on, likewise huge and silly in “Pois” or closer “Maialini e Maialine,” and almost grounded on “Toffolette e Zuccherini” at the start but off and running again soon enough — if you can keep up with guitarist/vocalist Marcello and drummer Stefano, for sure they make it worth the effort, and capture some of the intensity of purpose they bring to the stage in the studio and at the same time highlighting the shenanigans writ large throughout in their riffs and the cheeky bit of pop grandiosity that’s such a toy in their hands. You would not call it light on persona.
Thicker in tone than much of modern black metal, and willing toward the organic in a way that feels born of Cascadia a little more to the northwest as they blast away in “Era of Ash,” Boise, Idaho’s Shadow and Claw nonetheless execute moody rippers across the five songs/41 minute of their debut, Whereabouts Unknown. Known for his work in Ealdor Bealu and the solo-project Sawtooth Monk, guitarist/vocalist Travis Abbott showcases a rasp worthy of Enslaved‘s Grutle Kjellson on the 10-minute “Wrath of Thunder,” so while there are wolves amid the trio’s better chairs, to be sure, Shadow and Claw aren’t necessarily working from any single influence in or out of char-prone extreme metals, and as the centerpiece gives over to the eponymous “Shadow and Claw,” those progressive aspirations are reaffirmed as Abbott, drummer/backing vocalist Aaron Bossart (also samples) and bassist/backing vocalist Geno Lopez find room for a running-water-backed acoustic epilogue to “Scouring the Plane of Existence” and the album as a whole. Easy to imagine them casting these songs into the sunset on the side of some pointy Rocky Mountain or other, shadows cast and claws raised.
Posted in Reviews on September 4th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
Confirmed: hemp and goats. There were plenty of both the day a crew of no fewer than 12 players in the sphere of Psychedelic Source Records — something like a collective, but looser, more casual — jammed in a field at the bottom of a small hill. Hemp behind and goats running around on the hillside further back. As I understand it, there was also a very large pig, but I didn’t get to see it. Can’t have everything, and it was already a full day of players switching in and out, trading instruments, stopping for a drink and then picking back up when somebody decided it was time — sometimes that was Bence Ambrus, who organized the get-together-and-jam I was fortunate enough to be hanging around for in Páty, Hungary, last month, sometimes it was someone else — to start playing again.
Released now as the 12-track/two-hour-and-19-minute Recorded at the Goatfarm, the day would seem to have been a success. Obviously unnamed while they were being made up on the spot, songs have been given titles like “Goats on the Horizon” (12:35), “Sungarden” (6:29) and “Heavy Hemping” (7:10) — also “Mercat Encants” (19:52), “Slagamite” (9:56) and “Voids” (10:37), so not everything is strictly farm-relevant — and carved out of the live-captured, improvised pieces played in the grass under the summer sun with the breeze blowing around during the early August afternoon.
I won’t pretend to be impartial about it. It was incredible and humbling to be there while it happened, and hearing Márton Havlik‘s flute amid the languid heavy drift on “Wopila” (10:18), Krisztina Benus‘ vocals and synth on “Goat No. 8” (12:46) and the jazzy drumming — the day boasted three drummers in Máté Varga, Sándor Nagy and Krisztián Megyeri — behind the flowing lead guitar of “Blues From the Field to Mass Customers” (8:35), it’s hard to think of the endeavor as anything other than a success. The fact that Psychedelic Source — and you’ll note on the cover here the ‘Records‘ is dropped — got more than a 2LP’s worth of material from it and have already hosted a similar happening-style jam less than four weeks after the fact would seem to hint toward agreement.
Whether it’s the walking bassline of “Sungarden” (6:29) or the extended cosmic build and float of “You and Me and the Goat Makes Three” (17:00), and no matter who’s playing where — on bass throughout: Ambrus, Barna Bartos, Dávid Strausz, Gergely Szabó, Róbert Kránitz; on guitar: Ákos Karancz, Dávid Nagy, Balázs Tavaszy, also Ambrus — the sound of the recording is alive and organic, exploratory as “You and Me and the Goat Makes Three” reaches into its last two minutes of standalone drone guitar meditation and in the banjo-style saunter of “Hamaku,” with what might be Havlik on zither in the mix alongside the lighter-strummed guitar, and duly broad for having been cast into the open air. Given its near-20-minute reach, it’s not necessarily any great surprise “Mercat Encants” is especially encompassing, but it gets there through likewise expansive and patient flow, a resonant echo of effects tying together movements through and down the other side of its builds. Was that Karancz on guitar? Could be, but from the wash at its most fervent circa 11 minutes in through the will-to-meander course taken from there on, the entrancing aspects of what Psychedelic Source Records does remain at the fore for the duration.
It’s hard to know where my always-spotty memory ends and the actual listening experience of Recorded at the Goatfarm begins, but there is some very fortunate overlap between the two as the extended release plays out. To wit, the wah-drenched pastoralism of “Voids” and the openness in terms of style. Under the vast blue sky depicted on the cover from over to the side of where the jams were happening, seen through tall grasses creating an easily surmountable barrier between where the van was and where instruments were being played — it was an easy walkaround if you didn’t feel like going in the grass — the sounds didn’t have the same kind of immersion as they do on headphones in the after-the-fact, but they complemented the sunshine and warm air gorgeously, and they still do when put in that context.
Varying in length, personnel and intent, each jam finds its own way. “Voids” noodles out like slow-motion Earthless as it heads to its shimmering-tone midpoint where flute-inclusive closer “The Last Goat Was Capricorn” feels more expansive with a current of effects or synth running beneath the main guitar ramble and set atop a vital percussive pulse. In spirit and execution, the material is meditative, and depending on who’s doing what where, it can get pretty far-out if you want to start mixing metaphors between the terrestrial setting and the ever-expanding cosmos just on the other side of the blue sky noted above, but if the music takes you someplace other than where it was made, I think that’s valid. As much as Havlik‘s flute and Benus‘ voice might provide an intermittent folkish tie, there’s plenty on Recorded at the Goatfarm that comes across as otherworldly and ethereal, including those elements.
Ultimately, Recorded at the Goatfarm fits in with the mellow sprawl of many Psychedelic Source Records releases. Less pointed than some of what the likes of Pilot Voyager or River Flows Reverse put together in terms of songwriting, but harnessing something of the primordial energy that lies beneath that craft. As with the best of improv-based heavy psychedelia, there’s appeal in concept and audio alike — that is, you’re not sacrificing listenability to either experimentalist concepts, and there’s no one indulgence taking away from the impression of the whole. Aspects stand out, be it a guitar or bassline, a drum progression, flute, voice, synth or whathaveyou, but the entirety is bolstered by all participation in the process including — one likes to think — that of the after-the-fact listener.
I guess what I’m trying to say is Recorded at the Goatfarm represents something special about Psychedelic Source in a way that much of what comes out through their Bandcamp also does, and that however special it might have been to be there while these sounds were being made, there’s more on offer here sound-wise than my own sentimentality. I may not be there to witness it, but I hope the next goatfarm session produces such vibrant results.
Psychedelic Source Records, Recorded at the Goatfarm (2024)
Posted in Features on August 6th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
The plan changed a couple times before the thing actually happened, which wasn’t necessarily a surprise. With fewer than 100 hours left in the country, I was to meet up with the crew — or some of the crew, anyhow — from Psychedelic Source Records, who had a plan to make an album this past Saturday that seemed as much like a get together as a recording session.
One could not ask for a more perfect day to do such a thing. Sunny, 25C, comfortable breeze. I got picked up at the apartment where I’ve been staying by Ákos Karancz from Pilot Voyager, and we picked up Robi Kránitz of Satorinaut and various others, who plays bass, and they, their partners and I stopped off at a Spar to pick up some food on the way out of the city through a part of Budapest I’d not yet seen: namely where it keeps the trees and rich-people houses. I don’t know at what point Budapest-proper gave way to not, but the car soon enough was rolling down a wooded hillside and we were headed to a farm in Páty where the recording would happen and where Bence Ambrus, who seems to be the organizing principal behind a lot of what the “label” Psychedelic Source Records does, and a few others had been setting up gear since earlier in the morning.
Up and down hills with light dappled in roadside forest, there were some houses and roads but he we were clearly out of the city. I could’ve asked, but I’m insecure. A big field of corn that I assume would soon end up in all kinds of salads in ways that continue to seem strange to me, but whatever, and then pavement giving way to dirt. Still warehouses in the distance — it wasn’t like doing the trail ride in Moab or wherever the hell that was, but it was more open space than I’d seen in a few weeks, at least, and the smell coming in the car window was cedar-spiced dirt. Also there was construction equipment.
This was the farm in question: not just a place out in the country but an actual, working farm. The original plan had been a studio session — i.e., in a building — in the city. I was not about to complain about the opposite. I was given a spot in the shade and some coffee, which is pretty much what you need to do what I do, and met Krisztina Benus, Barna Bartos and various others, drummers Krisztián Megyeri, Sándor Nagy and Kundi, all of whom have contributed to various PSR projects and who spoke better in English than I can ever reasonably hope to do in Hungarian. A little girl — maybe two but not three years old, and that’s still a point where months matter — gave me one of the tiny crunchy pretzels she was eating, which was very generous, and there was a younger baby crawling around here and there and being passed around. Family atmosphere. I was a bit the sore thumb, but that’s hardly a new experience for me.
The music started after a few minutes and the sound filled part of the open air but left room for the breeze through the trees over by where a white van — somebody’s van, with a homemade couch — was parked. Goats on the hill behind, a jam taking a doomier turn then twisting back around to psych with tambourine to add to the movement, sunshine, chlorophyll pumping out green like it was getting paid per pigment, and an easy vibe. Beers casually consumed, funk in the wah. Stuff of life. I was both sorry to have not brought my actual-camera and happy to not have to deal with it.
That jam lasted about 20 minutes, maybe, and went where it was going to go, then wrapped up easily, a fleeting thing. In the various groupings, projects and bands around Psychedelic Source Records, I feel like some of this idyllic atmosphere has carried into the music, but exploration is part of it too. Where the recording gear — mics, a board, laptop, etc. — was set up, they were in the sun while they played. Short breaks were decided upon as the solution, which seemed fair enough.
More people came so there were maybe 20 total, including a bassist in his 60s named Wes Brinson, who was from — wait for it — Middlesex County, New Jersey. The NJ diaspora is incredible. He was local enough to me at home that we went back and forth naming highways; 287, Rt. 10 & 202, the numbers of home. Dude was on Motown, met a Hungarian woman and settled here, had stories to tell about being in Junior Walker and the All-Stars, knowing the Parliament cats, the alligators in Florida, and so on. History in a lawnchair. The next jam started, this one with two guitars and a blanket in front for folks to sit and watch, which was about right in terms of the general vibe.
Wind in the tall grass pushed the floating guitar into a kind of spread and all was resonance for a bit, but the underlying groove stayed grounded, Bence on bass doing cycles along with the drums, a nod with nuance for the guitars to work around; a familiar dynamic for a jam but cool to see and hear the moment being felt out as it was happening. The heavy in that low end was greeted by a wash of noise from Ákos’ guitar, and there were a couple times where it seemed like it was coming apart, but a bluesy solo met up with the bassline and allowed the moment’s four-piece to realign. It occurs to me I don’t know if this is a ‘band’ or not, if it has a name. I don’t know how they got this space on the farm. I don’t know how or when I’m getting back to the apartment. On a certain level, it matters less than being here.
It was after 4PM when that jam wrapped. As good a time as any. A quicker changeover this time, with a swapout of drummers, a switch from bass to guitar, a couple more beers and the kids getting ready to take off on a bike that someone wisely brought along. All of a sudden, quiet guitar started up in a dreamier tone, sticks were clicked, and they were off again to do the thing. A little more active this time around, a little louder and more immediate. Builds that felt a more out of the Earthless school, but were more even in their ebbs and flows and about more than just the guitar, with synth going at the same time, fluid bass and sharp pops in the snare. Sounded good over in the shade, not 15 feet away, loud enough that the kids had ear protection on but not so much that I felt compelled. The jam worked itself up and came back down, easy, casual, and was chill however loud it was. When it was done, I sat for a stretch and chatted with Wes, who was talking about knowing God Forbid and a bunch of others from Jersey; small world stuff. There was a longer break and so we talked for a while. I hope someday if I make it to 70 and I break my back someone will be interested to hear my stories about music. This might be one of them.
The afternoon was getting on, and the air was decidedly cooler by 6PM or so, but they set up a P.A. so Krisztina could sing. There were a few pops and cracks early in the speaker, but with two guitars, bass, drums, hand percussion and keys, the circa-18.00 jam was the fullest and most elaborate yet, with a little tension in the guitar strum that was soon redirected into a mellow-out by the drums as Bence dropped guitar to fix some technical issue. Tambourine and hand percussion and drums, it was inevitable that it would start to move and the bass player, who Wes introduced as Joe, would be having a good time. The remaining guitar went jangly and it stopped but they weren’t ready to let it go for real yet, and they were right to pick it back up, as what came next was pretty special in a pastoral-prog kind of way, with the second guitar back and a roll in the low end, a little louder and still right on on the way to a more natural stop.
The next break was also short, but when they came back there was lap steel in addition to everything else, then Marci Havlik’s flute, some more defined vocals, percussion and such and sundry, thick with vibe in the early evening shadow. Both of the day’s drummers were going — just one kit, but sticks on hand drums — and as both guitars tripped off into the watery unknown, Joe’s bass hit a stride. Flowing groove. The tambourine came out again between vocal parts and it got more intense, more cosmic, but nestled quickly into a swing with that flute in back ethereal in its purpose cutting through the wash of distortion and synth. They brought it back to ground for another few lines of vocals, lyrics read off the phone, and I don’t know if a signal was given or what, but they were soon under way at full-volume for a bridge. Another car-load of people showed up, some others were dancing.
Total personnel swap after that last jam with Krisztina’s vocals — and I had to work hard not to nerd out about River Flows Reverse when we were introduced, but I managed — and the lap steel. The new band was a five-piece with a different drummer and two additional percussionists, Ákos out front on effects guitar and some contemplative notes accompanying from a seven-string. Every jam has been different somehow, or found some way to do its own thing, and this did too. I stood in front (I’d been off to the side) and it was a bit fuller immersion for a while, which suited where my head was at. The flute was gone and the drift of the guitar gave a kind of spaced backdrop while bass, drums and percussion pushed deeper. They never actually stopped, but it was drone for a bit before the bass, drums and other guitar rejoined, the latter still more terrestrial in tone in a way that grounded without really being on the ground, where longer shadows were being cast.
It was 7:30 by then — time doesn’t matter, but my understanding that was sundown was a kind of natural time limit — and the flute was soon to come back in amid a more lysergic meditation, the effect of reachout in the sharper notes folkish and jazzy in kind with the bass, liquid guitar and riff. They took it to space rock for a while and let it down smoothly in a way that was particularly satisfying, guitar again holding the residual noise until Bence stepped in for Ákos and the bassists did a swap for another stretch that started off super-fluid and got a bit more active before an organic finish. The bass player started playing a riff that the rest picked right up and rolled with, a little more classic blues rock, met with a vibrancy of effects-laced strum. It built up quickly, as that kind of thing will, and the seven-string was ready for it, as people started donning hoodies that they thought better than I did to bring. In my defense, I had earplugs, which I didn’t really need until that last group got going.
When they were done, Ákos picked up the guitar again, grabbed a drummer and went on a subdued post-space trip. Bence joined in on bass, the other guitar came back, along with the flute, and once more they dug in. It was like it just happened. And then there was another jam, and it was 8:30, and it was getting dark, and colder — something of a novelty on this trip, as The Patient Mrs. pointed out — and there was some talk of calling a cab to get back. The Bolt app I’ve been using here didn’t work, but I think the same driver was on Über and that went through, so fair enough. I said a few goodbyes. The sun was down, and it was closer to nine than not as the taxi came down the dirt road. I ended up going with Joe and Wes in the car, which took my old man ass a while to figure out since I’ve used Uber like twice in my life. I think what was probably the last jam of the day was done by then — man, Ákos can go; I guess that’s how you wind up with a prolific one-man outfit — and everybody was kind of hunkered down in a wrapping-up mode, putting instruments away and such. My didn’t turn out to be terrible on departure, and by then it was legitimately chilly.
I’ve been lucky in my life to see some things that, if it was a different life or if I spent my time in some other way, I wouldn’t see. Days like today feel special to me because they are special. Not everybody gets to do this — go to an open field in Páty, Hungary, and watch a live-recorded jam session for like six hours; if more people did, it would’ve been crowded — and I realize how fortunate I am. I put my work in, but a lot of people work really hard at an lot of shit and don’t end up down on the farm with Psychedelic Source Records, and I am grateful and humbled to have had the chance to spend the day as I did. I still don’t know if it’ll be an album or what, or if so, when, but even if that’s never, I’m thankful to have been there while the music was made and cast into the hills surrounding.
