Outskirts Of Infinity
Lord Of The Dark Skies

There are bands that are born, live, and burn to follow the tracks of their deity, leading an existence devoted to the blindest devotion, almost as if it were a necessary lifelong tribute they cannot escape. This fate has befallen a plethora of bands that have lived in the myth of the unforgettable Hendrix, the being who's attracted more souls from the late sixties to today. In the wake of the God with the six-string appendage, in 1987 in London, Bari Watts (vocals, guitar, synth, and sitar) with Rick Gunther (drums) and Nick Saloman (bass), already a founding member of the Bevis Frond, created the entity Outskirts of Infinity. The project does not deviate from the sound of the "frond" but, unlike the latter, the Outskirts add a more substantial tone of hard rock origin to the psychedelic trademark of the renowned Watts-Saloman firm.

"Lord Of The Dark Skies," produced by the family label Woronzow in 1987, is an acidic orgy of screaming guitars, a plunge into the murky, swampy waters of the most compelling and lysergic psychedelia of the decade, a new, shocking "Miasma" just a year after the related Frond. Watts, a skillful, meticulous creator of guitar-walled tapestries, is the undisputed protagonist, the "Lord of the Dark Skies" unfolding in forty minutes of pure madness. A mysterious and intriguing object since the mystical artwork of the cover, "L.O.T.D.S." highlights all the artistic value, the talented virtuosity of a certain scene that draws inspiration (apart from Hendrix) from the Cream, Byrds, Wipers, and, in some ways, also from the early Pink Floyd. Climbing up a structure of guitar soliloquies worthy of the best '60s psych revival, they prove to be comfortable with their instruments and, despite some sly arrogance with epic tones (Invocation/Warning), the album flows deliciously through the nine tracks, aligned with the most tried and tested styles of the genre. "Gemini Machine," "Stoned Crazy," "Eyes In The Back Of My Head" ooze Hendrixian energy from every pore, from the instrumental technique to the voice, in a triumph of virtuosity patently traceable to the unforgettable icon of Seattle. The peak is reached in the eponymous track that gives the album its title, "Lord Of The Dark Skies," an unashamed inspiration bordering on emulation, where Watts' tight phrasing with Saloman's vigorous bass draws a powerful blues in E minor, ventured without hope of return into a wasteland of perdition and redemption to an ancient God, who subjugates souls in oblivion with the inescapable power conferred by the lightning bolts that shine in a pitch-black sky, bearer of bad omens (the cover is a witness). "Eastern Spell" is the offspring of a journey to the East; distant civilizations geographically and culturally emerge in an itinerary between scorching sand and mirages created by the talented Watts who in this instance delights with the sitar. The Outskirts also pay their dues to Cream, offering a faithful reworking of "Tales Of Brave Ulysses" but in a decidedly lo-fi key, dirty and gritty like a "do-it-yourself" recording produced in an adolescent bedroom adorned with posters everywhere. "Reaching Upwards" is the only bland moment of the album that precedes the concluding "Celebration/Peace" punctuated by the ever-present Watts who this time sits at the synth to weave an atmosphere with subdued tones, a suggestive baroque melody that amiably accompanies the listener to the door.

The Outskirts Of Infinity would make four more albums, dividing their time also with works under the Bevis Frond name. Saloman would leave the group after the second album, devoting himself body and soul to the B.F. project, producing a considerable number of releases from 1986 up to 2016 (they are still active). Watts would keep the O.O.I. alive until 1994, continuing to embroider his raw and enchanting sound for this mysterious, sinister entity that arrived in the distant 1987 from the outskirts of infinity.