Rain Parade
Explosions in the Glass Palace

Summer begins, and I need coolness, relaxation, a lightness tinged with melancholy, dreamy and hypnotic sounds; I need sunsets, to detach, levitate, and float on a blanket of refreshing foam. I need the Rain Parade.

"Explosions in the Glass Palace" comes to my rescue, the EP that followed their debut record.

It's 1984: the venerable master David Roback (pronounced Robbèck), superb guitarist and founding member, has just left the band to pursue other projects: first the supergroup Rainy Day, then Clay Allison, future Opal, with his sweet flame Kendra Smith. But the Rain Parade seem almost unfazed, and under the guidance of Matt Piucci they produce a 20-minute jewel which, compared to "Emergency Third Rail Power Trip," lacks nothing.

20 minutes of sixties rock and psychedelia (led by the Byrds above all) filtered through post-punk: it's the Paisley Underground, darling. But as is already evident from the opener, "You Are My Friend," the Rain Parade, compared to their debut, take on a less aloof approach, more heartfelt and visceral, with a power pop influence that recalls the Jangle of R.E.M. and company: it's a glass palace, yet shaken by explosions. Over the whole record, a sad and disconsolate atmosphere hovers, which emerges especially on a textual level - You are my friend, so sad this had to end, some broken things don't mend, they lie where they fall.

"Prisoners," one of my absolute favorite tracks, is a splendid psychedelic weave in the style of Pink Floyd, unfolding between tensions and releases of a bittersweet flavor; echoes, reverberations, and poignant soundscapes. From "Blue," a small psychedelic pop marvel about the color of depression and the disappearance of a girl, we arrive at "Broken Horse," a mournful and sumptuous ballad steeped in despair and solitude - A broken horse, and one by one I watched them run, they were my friends - and chiseled by Steve Roback’s hypnotic arpeggios, it concludes with what is perhaps the quintessential Rain Parade song: "No Easy Way Down." In the lyrics, an anthem to isolation and alienation, musically a monumental lysergic trip supported by a vaguely oriental-flavored riff and a fabulous Hammond organ tuned to celestial, sidereal heights, which brings us back to Earth for a moment with the refrain of the chorus before delivering the coup de grace with the final violin apotheosis. A masterpiece of Psychedelia, a testament to the Paisley revival, elevated by the Rain Parade to a minute archaeological reconstruction.

They look at us in front of their palm-adorned palace, the four boys of Rain Parade, under a rosy metal sky. But we are in the photo too: we are one of the two people walking behind the group, catapulted into this Los Angeles dream by some of the brightest stars of the Paisley Underground.