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Rating: The semi-invisibility of the third work by these phenomena can be justified by the fact that after the sensational debut of "Tragic Figures," where Bruce Licher, on the press, inscribed the band's new name over "Africa Corps" on the first ready copies, presenting an annihilating force in its instinctive power, and after "Ceremonial" which confuses with its transformation towards an underground catharsis of a more refined magnificence, Jamahiriya surprises in its fullness that offers no footholds. Then the circle closes with "Custom" where the Greek journey gives the definitive transcendence.
All consistent, all different, all devastating in their own way the works of the band from the '80s, all indispensable...
Maturity and detachment from independent altars, which might tempt one to pose, is the strength of the album that presents itself as concretely engaging and overturns by proposing a "Tabula Rasa" devilishly convincing. The shamanism of the percussion embraces East and West in a blend that fiercely enchants. The dark progress forward with a conscious courage towards the storm... and create that storm, making you fully immersive in the listening.
The fullness of the compositions is embarrassing and moves to tears in a "wild" yet exquisite joy in its awareness of destruction, where the ashes of the phoenix can be breathed. The triggered loop becomes a drug that, with its hypnotic spirals, dispels the misconception of a meditation concept that we wrongly consider passive in its silent ecstasy. But the game proposed by the Savage is precisely this: to maintain clarity in chaos and let oneself be pierced without sustaining damage, offering the other cheek with their noise.
Memories of Yankee decisiveness shatter in an awareness of the yearning for our eastern side that sweeps away pretentious temptations. The democracy of the "Republic" here is more mature than ever.
The voice chants an essence reached that the percussion, moving in their celestial richness, celebrates in a pulsation that goes hand in hand with the beat of a rediscovered Satori where among friends, you casually play "just because" musical threads that leave you pale for their strength and technical completeness. A studious flood of an animality mystified in the control of archaic dances, revisited by a concept of music with an immediate impact.
And they make you weep with joy and astonishment, and "force" you to hear that flood of cultured noise that whirls you into "pleasant" zones of sonic sanctity. "Viva la rock 'n' roll!"
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