The Black Angels
Passover

On the cover notes, they define themselves as "Native American Drone'N'Roll" and title their first album "Passover" (American term for the Jewish Passover). If we add that they come from the psychedelic Austin in Texas, doubts about the mental sanity of the Black Angels cannot help but arise.

Whether they are crazy or just pretending, I cannot tell, but listening to these 10 tracks, there is no trace of Klezmer music, Native Americans, or Sunn O))). What comes out of the speakers is more than an Easter, it is an epiphany. An epiphany of fascinating 60s acid residues. And if there is an Easter, at most it's the "Easter Everywhere" by the 13th Floor Elevators.

Not only do these local elevators serve as guiding deities, but also a good slice of the institutionalized iconography of the most trippy 60s, especially the hypnotic staticity of the Velvet Underground, and veiled references to the spacey deviations of early Hawkwind.

The skill of these five youngsters in forging a monolithic sound is commendable, perhaps a bit monotonous for some, but it gives an enviable unity of intent to this first effort. It's difficult to single out the best tracks, the average level is excellent, and the quality deviations are minimal. Clearly impactful is "First Vietnamese War", starting from Vietnam and reaching today's war in Iraq, utilizing a helicopter guitar and an unsettling organ background. Also worth mentioning is the Indian-style flow with declamatory singing à la Julian Cope of "Manipulation", or the blues harmonica, with strange allusions to groups like Opal, of "Bloodhounds On My Trails".

The entire atmosphere is cloaked with a austere and alien aura, thanks not a little to the voice of singer Alex Maas, a male version of the early Nico, and the minimalistic drumming à la Maureen Tucker; emblematic in this sense are "Empire" and "Sniper At The Gates Of Heaven". And it matters little if the initial riff of "Prodigal Sun" resembles "Brainstorm" by Hawkwind too much, the guys put a lot of meat on the fire and all of excellent quality, a sign that in the 60s, Genetically Modified Music was fortunately still absent.

Do not worry if at the end of the 10 minutes of "Call To Arms" the Velvet ghosts become flesh, musical necromancy is not yet a crime.