Sunburned Hand of the Man
Headdress

THE REVIEW

Every time I listen to this LP with my eyes closed, it feels like I'm sitting in the back seat of a red convertible. Up front are Johnny Depp and Benicio del Toro, the direction is Las Vegas... no!, it's not me who's high on mescaline, it's the music coming out of the speakers that seems to be hallucinatory, the expression of 11 (hallucinating) minds who mix a spicy cocktail of rock, folk, free jazz, psychedelia, and improvisation.

A harmonica whispering who knows what. A barking dog. Plucked guitar strings. A visionary madman screaming. Reverberations of incomprehensible voices. Distant echoes of crazed notes. Hypnotic and determined bass lines. Frenzied percussion. Indian choirs. An ambulance siren.
But where am I? Hey Johnny, have we already arrived in Las Vegas? No, I'm lying on my bed, what a pity...

Repeat all... I close my eyes again, maybe I'll go have a drink with Nicolas Cage...