The beautiful guitar melody with which Mirror Mirror’s ‘New Horizons’ begins contains in the revolution of its tones the complete structure of what is to come, like a strange flower slowly unfolding its crimson petals to reveal a wonderful piece of psyche-folk that seduces us with the scent of the United States of America, Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd and early Brian Eno balladry, stuff that never fails to tie our hearts into a knot reminding us of Liars at their sweetest, or the esoteric chrysalis of an enigma metamorphosing into a butterfly fluttering in the edge of our consciousness wondering what to become next, something pretty and pregnant with possibilities and mystery, a metaphor & a spell blown off the face of reality with a puff of smoke as the song finishes, all we are left with is metaphors skirting in the periphery of the weird and lovely transparent radiation it creates, why bother with words, just press play again.
Mirror Mirror features lovely Ryan from most excellent Telepathe, who one of the 20JFg types had the pleasure to meet during the Great Escape festival. Get their 7″ on Half Machine Records from the 16th of June.
Upset the Rhythm is one of the record labels we love and respect the most, what with the impeccable stream of fancy coloured vinyl releases of their glorious catalogue, always delivered with the taste and attention to detail which love entails, what with the excellent shows they keep putting out so that the foggy streets of the megalopolis which raises satanic to our North might remain exciting in spite of the dubious voting preferences of its inhabitants. Anyhow, Upset the Rhythm have just released the Vision’s the First/Namer 7” by High Places, a band that have enthralled us with their swirling spirals of ornate lo-fi folk since one Mr. James Nascent brought them to our attention some time ago.
In ‘Vision’s the First’ they keep it astounding with a dizzying lullaby that rocks syncopated with the rhythm that Timbaland would have come up with if he had decided to leave all the bling behind and spend a couple of years meditating in a hut hidden by the shores of Walden Pond, gathering nuts, exchanging significant glances with blackbirds of impervious gaze, and generally living his life according to the cycles of nature, carefully attuning the mechanisms of a dusty 4-track recorder so as to pick the crystalline voices announcing the arrival of the spring, voices which sparkle beautiful to deliver a message of warning and disobedience.