White Heaven
Out

On the crest of the wave. We, the internet people of frantic listening, buyers of second-hand CDs on eBay, scouters of dusty stalls, are witnesses and architects of a small revolution.

The constant flow of data between our PCs perpetually trailing the mule's tail or soaring in the sky on unfolded blue wings, in search of the treat tasty enough for our palate, in pursuit of that relic never printed on an optical disc and available only in a couple of shops in New Zealand, well, that constant flow is bringing those discs onto the shelves of the stores in our cities.

We are part of a change: in the last two or three years there has been a proliferation of reissues of albums that have now become unreachable legends. And those same albums are slowly populating even the shelves of our beloved/hated (un)trustworthy megastores. Would you have ever dreamed in your most daring flights to find Neu at Fnac? The reissued discography of Amon Düül II? And not just kraut, the first forgotten (and insanely beautiful) EP by Butthole Surfers? And so on.
Now, among the new (old) releases, there's also this splendid weird and sleepy album from an unjustly forgotten and previously unavailable band.

Neo psychedelia, noise, surreal journeys from Japan. A singer, You Ishihara, who seems like a stoned version of Damo Suzuki, cowboy hat on his head. Guitars now noisy and loose, now authors of goosebump arpeggios. Low fidelity as a vocation in life, the '60s in the heart, the noisy revolution of the '80s in the mind.
All under the banner of laziness, blurred, imprecise, and sensual.
An album to listen to after lunch, in the emptiness of a Sunday afternoon. Sleepy mind, uncomfortable sofa, heavy eyelids, the taste of coffee on the lips. A liquid Tokyo, melted by the sun, a kingdom of hallucinations and dusty stories.

Released by PSF in 1991, finally remastered and reissued in 2005, -no need to say it- "digipak packaging". Almost impossible to find now, hopefully not for long.