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Rating:
It's always nice to hear about the old times, about how things were better when they were worse, looking and losing oneself intermittently with respect to this eternal return, and if it were so, I think of walking on the little circle trying to see a sphere; perceiving the relative motion of sensations between deja-vu that are non-visual, memories or momentary inspirations, sometimes they come to make melancholy seem like a fulfilling side of love.
Well, during the casual listening of this record I followed the music like a long and grainy horizontal photo that draws so much from the past, and even if it perhaps tells a little about itself, this blues-revival has captivated me; probably not through any fault of its own, for me it was a record of memories from the first listen; dark, melodic, and slow, it marks the pace, settles into the cold of winter and makes one wait for spring, but it echoes with quality even though it doesn't resonate with anything new.
However, its structure intrigues, it advances elusive beyond the blues beyond the threshold into the black* trapped in classic guitar effects, it rhythmically verses smoky, sings youthfully and except for some slightly cunning tones, it makes well heard the dirt of the music they want to play; everything surfaces lumpy, blues, psychedelia, stoner, a mixture rendered as on the cover, which pulses, branches out, and fixes esoteric with at least three faces, or one face and three masks.
A play of colors and memories, lays down the veil of psychotropic music, and the guitar mumbles cuneiform on a nearly singer-songwriter approach to the voice, the jams often flow without ever coagulating and this is enough to give me a cue while waiting for one of their concerts, but in the end, I listened here and there, it seems that they really know what they are doing.
And then, the lurching distortions of When god comes back, the tracked movements of the moment on Swallowed by the sea, the oriental folk in Roman dagger, and the best blues of the album in Marriage of coyote woman, all of this pleasantly intoxicated me; I started from here, second album, year two thousand thirteen, and by natural instinct, I stumbled upon their more recent releases: it seems that over time the rust has been thoroughly sifted, but in a decidedly interesting manner, eh.
(*) Ablatik Aldo Vignotti Kavalla Kavalla, nothing will ever truly change.
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