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Rating: It's been a long time since Alan used to prepare his psychedelic breakfast in the warmth of his mother's atomic heart. And how many generations have imagined shuffling in slippers across the floor, trekking that seemingly endless few meters between the bedroom and the kitchen? Even Stefan Koglek is searching for corn flakes right from the early uncertain guitar notes of "Milford T. and mr Thirbys psychedelic breakfast". Milk that's white, and chocolate that's sweet. Stuff that can rot all your teeth, and not many people are happy to go to the dentist, whispers Kalinka AKA Milford T. The guitars flow lazily over the rhythmic carpet for thirteen minutes of drugged-out Doorsian keyboard echoes and roasted peyote smoke.
Being cooped up improvising at the Institute of Noise Research (eheheh) while outside in Hanover the snowstorm rages all weekend leads to these results... the long suite spills into a jam as the propellant runs out for a downhill finish on a dead engine. What's needed to start over? Maybe a deadly cocktail of Moroccan-Lebanese-Pakistani. Because the various musicians from German groups like Colour Haze, Mandra Gora Lightshow Society, Velvetone, Psychedelic Avengers, Matmosphere, and some freelancers like the hippie Norbert Schwefel, only function with such fuels. Moreover, a languidly acidic ballad like "Roll a stoner to stone a roller and howl to the moon" needs no years of preparation to spontaneously emerge like those hallucinogenic mushrooms that sublimate their ephemeral existence on a full moon night only to be picked by the right man, at the right time, in the right place.
The Sabbath-like cadence of "Spacedienst - dedicated to the shiny gnomes" takes us for twenty minutes on a ride on a psychedelic spaceship through the galaxies populated by the German space rock gurus right into the rarefied atmosphere of the third stone from the sun, where whirlwinds generated by electromagnetic storms carry you into mushroom hyperspace without the notion of time.
Otherwise, these stoned Germans will take you by the hand for the thirty minutes of "A lifesize swamp" and lead you through tribal rhythms and distorted wah wahs that only ask you to shrink for a swamp-sized life, just to become small enough to enter the psychedelic world of the sublimated. It's the one whose borders start from the sunlit American prairies of the Quicksilver Messenger Service, passing through the miasmas of the British swamps ruled by Bevis Frond to reach the carbon dioxide of the German suburbs.
It's the exact same happy trail that that "travel" agency has had in their catalog for forty years. This time the ticket is free, no tricks: just connect to www.swamp-room.de and click free download to take advantage of the last minute offer at zero cost.
The risk lies in not wanting to come back.
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