The Heliocentrics
A World of Masks

I didn't find any specifics about it, but it happened: ours are no longer mentioned under Now Again. It's important to say, I discovered them scraping in there, and without crossing prejudices or insinuating with the air of someone who thinks ill, I say one simple thing: you can tell. Well, end of parenthesis.

And what can I say, a brilliant evolution of something in evident expansion: the comparisons with cosmic realities don't bounce around randomly. One thing is known, an album by the heliocentrics cannot keep its feet on the ground, at most just one, just enough to gather ethnic fragments that crumble before anchoring to the sun and proceeding with the expansion. Now, having fixed the reference system, it is possible to describe the motion of the bodies.

2017, ten years after the debut, A World of Masks is first and foremost a familiar title that shoulders their latest sonic adventure. No collaboration, no role as an enviable backing band, nothing less than the pure Heliocentrics spiced by the histrionic vocal dances of Slovak Barbora Patkova. Here’s the big news, a clever addition to the mix fueling the flames of a sound that seems to coagulate more and more over the years. Vocal lines that no longer function as mere samples, but when possible, take the lead of the procession. Yet, the innumerable influences still frequent the usual haunts, and jazz, psychedelia, and funk create a Rubik's cube colored like the galaxy, getting lost in the abstraction of krautrock where hip hop becomes trip-hop.

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The impression is this: the expansion of their sound seems to give life to a structure that loses itself less on the freeform masses of the previous releases, while still maintaining the spirit of the jam that permeates every delirium. Placed at the center of the motion, Malcolm Catto continues to represent an authoritative synaptic junction for every single piece of the band, forming a well-established bastion of this experimental music. Varied and extensive instrumentation, including violins, clarinets, percussion, noise guitars, wah, various pedals, and timeless sounds that bestow a borderless frame to the picture.

But apart from this, happiness also lies in the concert at the beginning of the month where I had the pleasure to attend. The presentation of this album is undoubtedly the most delightful thing that last year has offered me live, among vocal ecstasies decorating the cosmic grooves and the wild improvisations that color a midweek evening. The fact that we were not even fifty did not seem to discourage the ensemble. Unfortunately, no vibraphone and double bass for the occasion, but my lady was beautiful, the indica was great, and the absence of merchandise granted me a couple of extra beers.

By now, I dedicate the compulsive purchase of records to a few musical entities, I would say this is definitely one of them.
Now I leave the album on repeat, as it ends as it begins.