Sleepy Sun
Fever

I will tell you about ferragosto alchemies, peyote-rock©, and other hallucinations until you say enough.

They amazed me with their debut album "Embrace", thrilled me live, now they've literally won me over.

They are six young souls, live they play almost in a circle, close, as if gathered around a single musical idea: psychedelia circa 1969.

Representatives of the NWOPR current, (New Wave Of Psychedelic Rock) akin to Black Mountain at their debut, Tame Impala, Band Of Horses, Pontiak, Black Angels... Indebted to Jefferson Airplane, Neil Young, QuicksilverMS of "Happy Trails", and to the acid movement of the Californian west coast.

In June 2010 they released their second work "Fever". By July 2010 I found it in my hands.

The opening trio: "Marina" (a splendid neo-psych fresco with final tribalisms), "Rigamaroo" (folk vocal duet from the summer of love), "Wild Machines" (remember Neil Young's distorted six-string outbursts?) alone encompasses the entire Sleepy microcosm made of sweet folk embroidery, lysergic rock, and electric pop psychedelia that burns slow and smoky like plastic. It differs from the debut album "Embrace" (a debut worth 4 medlars) as it is less dark and enigmatic but follows the same path interrupted only for a few months of touring around the Old and New Continents.

The six accompany us on a journey that starts from the Californian hinterland, behind Santa Cruz covering part of the west coast reweaving what remains of the musical textures of the great gatherings of the past with the biodegradable ones of the zero-ten decade. Psychedelia of the west coast marries the alternative side of indie rock. Eleven tracks, balanced between acoustic and electric, dated and contemporary at the same time, sleazy and accommodating before waking you up with sudden bursts of electricity. The two voices, of Rachel Williams and Brett Costantino, alternately complementing each other, is the true trademark of Sleepy Sun. Honey on the palate and brackish water on the wounds.

Running through the bushes behind Santa Cruz supported by the continuous rhythmic breaks that follow one another endlessly, stopping to pick wild (and slightly acidic) berries during the calmer phases ("Ooh Boy"), feeding on their pulp with the reverberations in the background and the mouth harmonica in the ears ("Desert God"), before the electric explosion of the guitar duo M.Holliman/ E.Reiss. Fruits that appear more mature than those on Embrace (2008). Blackberries, raspberries, undergrowth fruits in pastel shades like the beautiful cover of this "Fever".

Chosen single "Open Eyes" perhaps the most orthodox of the batch as per logic. Blues pentatonics soaked in rainwater, squeezed and sun-dried.

I personally love this new sound of California and these guitars spread over each other loaded with fuzz.

Take the ten minutes of the concluding "Sandstorm Woman". The evolution that takes ordinary folk notes when ignited, resulting in an unexpected and compelling final product. It's the California desert, the optical effect of the sun on guitars modulated by wah-wah bases, harmonica, and soft choruses.

In short, the psych of the SS more than a "trip" in itself seeks those sounds that made history in those parts, sounds never worn away by time that moved the masses with the sheer power of ideas. Different times, you will agree with me.

I add that if most critics are also enthusiastic about this album, then there are two cases: 1) I seem to understand it quite well myself. Or 2) we're both a bunch of nostalgic hippie freaks.

That said, reaching home on a rocky cliff, with the wind's slaps on my face 70 feet over the San Francisco bay, the view of the Golden Gate on one side and Alcatraz Island serving as a warning on the other.....

What do you say? Okay, not quite, but with my fingers and the corners of my mouth stained indelibly red and purple and the juicy, acidic pulp of those fruits along the stomach. After the Asian and the Australian, another much more pleasant wave of flu is coming, the "Californian".

I adjust the Cherokee feather to the side of my ear knowing that all the symptoms are there: red eyes, dilated pupils, and dry mouth. I've caught it. I'll heal. "Fever".

The opinion of Commander Bossolazzi:

Not only for those who miss the Bay Area scene, the future passes here too. A must-have.

And then it's an album recommended by the commander. Which doesn't hurt. 4 ripe medlars!