Primal Scream
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Curious to note, at least as far as my listening goes, that in this first half of 2013 two of the best new releases are from two bands with almost thirty-year careers. While the Flaming Lips have removed the lid from their most hidden paranoias, reconnecting with their psychedelic past of the '80s, Bobbie Gillespie's Primal Scream follows closely, tracing an almost antithetical path, expecting a furious and acidic musical bolus that is quite unexpected. Unexpected because after “Evil Heat” Gillespie & co. had begun parodying themselves in the two subsequent albums, also engaging in the self-praising nostalgic tour following the reissue of Screamadelica.

You can imagine the surprise upon hearing the damn impressive punch and the vitriolic lyrics of the opening track “2013”, 9-plus minutes of boogie rock in space, an amazing piece that stands midway between “Swastika Eyes” and the cover of “Slip Inside This House”, combining the anger of the former with the lysergic nature of the latter. And we're just at the beginning of an album that, in its almost 70 minutes, shows very few moments of decline, especially when certain rhythms and sounds recall a period not dear to me like the '80s of Madchester (the horrible sax of “Goodbye Johnny”, the final gospel rock of “It’s Alright, It’s Ok”), or when they attempt a sonic assault but strike empty air (“Hit Void”). The rest ranges from excellent to brilliant.

Mutant and cybernetic rock, with a crazy flute (!?) (“Culturcide”), streetwise funky beat with a fat bass underneath, but spoiled by unseemly '80s trumpets (“Invisible City”), harking back to XTRMNTR and its robotic rock (“Sideman”), drug-laden lullabies (“Walking With The Beast”), hypnotic and bewitched tracks (“Tenement Kid”), doped and skeletal blues complete with Robert Plant on backing vocals (“Elimination Blues”), and blues at triple speed with many additives in its body (“Turn Each Other Inside Out”).

And two tracks with an unpredictable flow worth the purchase cum laude: “Relativity” which starts as an Indian trip, transforms into an indo-industrial pounding until mid-track when it all changes into a spatial ballad like early Floyd; “River Of Pain”, with folk guitar and percussion introducing an unsettling Gillespie (very Massive Attack of Mezzanine), until it transfigures into a free-form freak-out among chimes, frantic sax, open chords. The whole thing culminates in a nonsensical paroxysmal orchestral crescendo, at whose Hollywoodian peak everything resets to the initial folk guitar. If this isn't genius, then I'm as handsome as Johnny Depp.

In short, the best Primal Scream since the days of XTRMNTR.