Radar Men from the Moon
Intergalactic Dada & Space Trombones

Sometimes, there’s an urge for that youthful/senile desire to get high, but all it would really take is to put on a record with anxiolytic, sedative-hypnotic, and meditative properties.

Sure, you might say it’s not exactly the same thing, but what else can you do?

Are your four walls oppressing you?

Would you like to die (!) because, right now, there’s someone who’s not giving it up for you?

Don’t even have a single euro?

Are you maybe in love—perhaps unrequitedly—with psych/stoner/heavy?

Then (more no than yes) you’ve got the solution right at hand.

There are the Radar Men From The Moon.

The band name is borrowed from a 1952 science fiction film and more or less reveals the finely-organized ruckus they create.

The music of the Dutch trio, composed of Tony Lathowers (drums, synthesizers, and samples), Jan Titus Verkuijlen (bass), and Gleen Peters (guitar, as well as designer of their attractive artwork), is a galactic trip of gargantuan proportions.

Take a giant blender and toss in Hawkwind, Kyuss, Colour Haze, Astrosoniq, Pink Floyd, and as many other names as you like to taste.

Blend it all together, and—if you don’t have a weak stomach—the robust sonic upheavals will let you drift aimlessly through the infinite, stellar universe, with the pleasure of forty-five minutes of heavy-psych-stoner.

The goal is to forget the horrendous routine for which you might just be an asymptomatic carrier.

The songs are stitched together, each clocking in at substantial lengths (never under eight minutes), and are built to abolish static phases and prolonged drops in intensity and slothfulness.

The 2011 album is a kind of dark and enormous instrumental menhir, in which the only spoken appearances you’ll find inside rise to the surface thanks to added samples—like the introduction in the opening track Space Colonists, in the next song The Wire (where the guitar work gets thicker and more imposing), and lastly toward the end of Moonjuice.

The qualities that seasoned sonic-junkies of records like this are after are all here, starting with certain groove verticalizations, garnished with psychedelic escapes that stretch out the space.

You take refuge in solutions drawn from kraut-rock, and hit the stoner pedal, as in The People Who Stay On Earth Will Explode, where the amount of fuel in circulation visibly rises, the power increases, and you barrel ahead full throttle.

In short, the overall performance is one of total, pure enjoyment at a brisk pace.

Set sail on the first solar boat and queue up Intergalactic Dada & Space Trombones: the musical space awaits you for a truly out-of-this-world trip, far beyond anything terrestrial within your reach.