Les Big Byrd
They Worshipped Cats

THE REVIEW

And here we go again. After the Afro-Swedes Goat, comes another unidentified (or unidentifiable) psychedelic object from Sweden.

Discovered by the psychedelic King Midas Anton Newcombe (Brian Jonestown Massacre), these unknown Les Big Byrds release one of the best lysergic tablets of the year (though slightly underwhelming, it must be said). Their coordinates run parallel to those of Newcombe's group, but more rock and with a distinct predilection for visions of outer space.

Typically indolent tracks (“Back To Bagarmossen”) or ecstatic (“War In The Streets”) yet always linked to the song form, maybe with psychedelic digressions, but with less open and free structures than one would expect from such a band. In fact, it is precisely the balance between accessibility (potentially very wide, even for an audience not accustomed to the genre) and introspective elaborations that is the strength of the album. Introspections that sometimes nod to certain krautrock rhythms (“Indus Waves” and “White Week”). To garnish an already rich and balanced dish, a title track that echoes the soundtracks of some '70s sci-fi movie, like John Carpenter, to be clear, and a kraut ride that wins the title of piece of the year with its title alone (“1,2,3,4, Morte”).

And, if for you, as for myself, an album is not made only of audible frequencies but also by an appropriate graphic accompaniment to the listening, a cover with a Christ shooting laser beams from his eyes at a group of B-movie style UFOs could provide an additional incentive to listen.