The Brian Jonestown Massacre
...And This Is Our Music

If for some crazy reason I wanted to divide the career of the Brian Jonestown Massacre into periods, as is done with Deep Purple, I might find myself in some embarrassment: a constantly changing lineup and continuously reshuffled musical choices. The only certainty is that I'll find old-school stuff that constantly harks back to some group of addicts from past decades: music you've probably heard before, but always played with enviable class and a recognizable imprint. First, the shoegaze beginnings, with that Methodrone (1995) worthy of being deemed a staple of the genre, then the sumptuous sixties trilogy of 1996, followed by the 1997-2003 period in which folk was tinged here and there with country and psychedelia took on more composed forms, and finally, the latest period, a mix of the noisy acidity of the late 2000s and the oriental relaxation of recent years.

Why this preface? Because …And This Is Our Music, released in 2003, manages to effortlessly mix that psychedelic and folksy rock already thoroughly explored with a definite anticipation of the more ethereal atmospheres of subsequent albums. All permeated by a decidedly melancholic vein, which differs both from the drug-induced deliriums of their more chaotic moments and the lighthearted vein of other releases (remember when talking about BJM you always had to mention the Dandy Warhols or the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club?).

And here is our music, an appropriate title for this collection of songs, not without allusions and tributes, in which the supreme skill of Anton Newcombe, the undisputed leader of our band, immediately stands out. Two brief intros open a first-class folk rock sextet, with the dreamy Starcleaner and Here to Go, great more lively classics like When Jokers Attack, Prozac VS Heroin and Geezers, and the intimate Maryanne. From here begins an untangling in multiple genres: folk gems, melancholic like A New Low in Getting High or rural and sunny like Some Things Go without Saying, the first attempts at more nervous solutions in the synths of Prozac VS Heroin Revisited, the piano and brass of Tschuss, a western scenario admired riding into the sunset, foreshadowing insights picked up later, and the majestic ride of You Look Great When I'm Fucked Up, perhaps one of the group's best pieces, as epic as a Thelma & Louise with Morricone’s music. At the tail-end of the album, The Pregnancy Test, where the Hammond organ reappears, already heard in Starcleaner, just enough to add a krautrock touch to the mix.

An album varied and multifaceted, yet always incredibly cohesive and fluid. Something more than just an album for fans alone, which I would recommend to any lover of the genres explored. Certainly, the flaws of other BJM albums are not absent: innovation fans won’t find much to chew on, and the album may be a bit too long, seventeen songs are a lot. Perhaps it doesn't bore, but it likely dazes the unsuspecting listener. Although, I believe this is exactly Newcombe’s goal.

Awaiting our turn to surf or Hawaiian music, I think I'll put the album on once more to feel more at peace with the world, knowing that today's heroes are watching over us tomorrow.