Pontiak
Dialectic of Ignorance

THE REVIEW

There's quite a lot of people playing "old stuff in a new way." In the realm of rougher psychedelia, the kind united by reverence for Black Sabbath, these people usually split between those who play '70s music with '70s instruments and '70s recordings while dressing '70s, and those who do the exact same things but without pretending to live in another decade. Since we live in a crappy era, this means they look like good guys with beards who study pharmacy or material sciences and drink craft beers but who occasionally light up a joint.

Pontiak is that latter type of band. A wise person wrote of them that they "remind a bit of everything and everyone (...) but manage to be credible, sincere, and kick-ass." With Dialectic of Ignorance the three bearded brothers who live on a farm in Virginia have decided to give a twist to their psycho-stoner-something-rock. That is, they've removed some of the roughness and added a bit more psychedelia. That's all. A tiny little change, but it works. The David Gilmour-like vocals you only hear the vowels of work, the Chris Hakius-like drumming works, the relaxing '70s psychedelia works. They say even the craft beer the three Carney brothers brew on their farm works. This is to say that stereotypes may be a bad thing, but they are often truthful and entertaining.

The cover perfectly conveys the idea. No interstellar journeys, no acid visions or junkie ramblings. Pontiak is the joints you smoke with your cousin at three in the afternoon after a family lunch at a farmstead. It won't be a life-changing experience, but missing out on it is a shame.