The Gris Gris
Live At The Creamery

The Swan Song

I am not sure whether the belief that the Cygnus Olor, or mute swan, sings only before dying is true or not, but the idea of doing something beautiful before disappearing forever is undeniably fascinating. It feels like a testament, for those who will and want to know what came before. And it's also a narcissistic revenge, especially in the specific field of musical groups ignored by most.

To put an end to the career of the Gris Gris is a wild live album (as the historiography of "other" rock teaches, did someone say Metallic KO?), recorded in 2008 in Oakland, a full three years after their last album. For those who let them slip by, which was honestly easy in these years of random listening, Gris Gris is the main creation of a certain Greg Ashley, a Texan from Austin, and they were (perhaps) the best reincarnation in music and spirit of the late '60s Texan psychedelic scene. With the blessings of Roky Erickson, Mayo Thompson, and the International Artists roster on the nightstand, but also with Creole and swamp blues deviations, between Dr John (from whom the group takes their name) and Screamin' Jay Hawkins. Not forgetting the interstellar flights of the early Barrett.

In short, an idea of psychedelia that is both roots and open, especially perceptible in the first self-titled album, which was traversed by noisy residues and saxophones that smelled of voodoo. More canonically acid was the second, For The Season, whose first side, organized as a musical unicum, is presented exactly as it is in this live. Six tracks that, outside of the studio, derail from the usual tracks, between out-of-tune hymns to Jesus ("Down With Jesus"), Mexican murder ballads ("Cuerpos Haran Amor Extrano"), ending in the open free noise countryside of a superb version of "Year Zero". The second side shows Greg's folk soul (already the author of two excellent solo albums), between the wild love declaration of "Mary # 38" and the opium spirals of "Skin Mass Cat". And then the best possible tribute to the 13^th Floor Elevators, that is, "Everytime", sulfurous and dark like never before.

All that remains is for us to say goodbye too, perhaps to the frantic notes of the finale "Best Regards", and hope that the parabola of the Gris Gris will be told again by some deranged prophet.

Forever and ever.

Amen.