Indian Jewelry
Free Gold!

Describing Indian Jewelry is like watching dozens of concentric circles expanding in water after throwing an acidic and pulsating stone, better known as Psychedelia, the core of this multifaceted sound proposal born in 2002 amidst the desolate lands of Texas, by a group of spaced-out people from Houston and soon blossomed in the American underground.

A project centered around the two pillars and multi-instrumentalists Tex Kerschen and Erika Thrasher (the latter also being the vocalist), but is open to collaboration with various musicians who passed by to bestow sounds during goliardic days with a hint of benzedrine.

Although at first glance it might seem like yet another beat revival transplanted into the current era, as well as a provocative image operation by a collective (more than a stable band) that poses in official photos wearing ponchos and keffiyehs, handling machine guns and pistols, and raising a manifesto promising a "bloodbath," the truth is that the 5 neo-hippies, amid one lysergic trip and another, pull out of the hat an explosive mix of acid electronics and hallucinogenic rock wrapped in a strong lo-fi shell made of kraut clamor alternated with noise hints, with an almost garage attitude that emerges in the shards of noise aimed violently at the listener's ear, perhaps unprepared for such an extreme show.

"Free Gold!", the third official album, released in the just concluded year, is a real punch in the stomach: starting with the almost shoegaze of "Swans" is a perceptual experience worth noting, among walls of feedback overlapping to form screaming noise barriers and a voice in perpetual trance capturing your senses until it turns them into a gift package with a destination galaxy, or the obsessive electronics of "Temporary Famine Ship" with a guitar in the middle dispensing solos produced by the evident momentary psychic delirium of its composer, then changing course (and there's nothing to be surprised about given the subjects in question) and diving into the ballad with a classic flavor of "Pompeii". The foamy electronics of "Too Much HonkyTonking" is instead something truly oppressive, distressing, dark, claustrophobic, with noise peaks with a hypnotic march, the individual instruments almost indistinguishable in the noise pastiche and your synapses seized and squeezed like lemons; among the peaks of the entire album, probably.

You cannot overlook the acid folk of "Everyday" where a few acoustic chords blend with Thrasher's alienating voice, or the electro tribal experiment of "Hello Africa" with a basic loop accompanied by tribal percussion and electronically distorted voices, leading up to the pinnacle of "Seventh Heaven", not coincidentally the closing track, and essentially a jewel of rare beauty that entwines with lunatic guitar chimes and synth in the background painting immense cosmic scenarios; you thus enter the more kraut borders with Ash Ra Tempel guiding you towards unknown mystical territories to discover.

The "Indian jewelry" sound manufacturer. A psychedelic shop that, though tough at first listen, will make your hair stand on end for the visions it will lead you to, and will launch you straight into space towards Saturn or Jupiter with your ass glued to the chair, your brain liquefied, and a mass of foam gushing from your mouth.