Funereal new wave that sticks to the soles of your chucks like ectoplasmic chewing-gum, that’s where the Wicked Awesomes are at. In their new split with the O Voids we stumble upon Test Pattern, a ramshackle hymn for those cats out there who lose their shit in a rather idiosyncratic way to other frosty c-86 stalwarts such as Blank Dogs, with the added bonus of fine guitarwerks that coruscate mesmerising a la Television (the production values are more neon boys though), small creatures climbing up the walls of a castle of tarot cards over which, one second before collapsing, a perfect pop light shines to illuminate us prancing in the ghostly mosh pit of that indie dungeon where the best sonic gems lay hidden.
Then to Los Llamarada, that burning beacon of furious garage rock psychedelia coming all the way from Monterrey, Mexico. Their new album, Take the Sky, does precisely that, in a galley erected with sonic detritus from a past bygone but not forgotten, sails patchwork of a thousand brutally mind-expanding fabrics, say Kim Gordon’s youthful face staring defiant from a grainy blown up b&w photography sewn into a thousand teenage armies who wrestled with the ghost of the Punk Rock years to come before they even had a name.
This bulking contraption is propelled upwards forever upwards on an invisible matrix of relativistic wind patterns, oars spinning in a foreboding cycle to a rhythm that would make the Red Crayola proud in its parabolic slash metronomic derangement, the rest is that ominous bass ooomping and scratchy keyboards that make ripples in the subconscious like a vicious uppercut from Alan Vega’s leather-gloved claw. Fierce spirits defying gravity’s realpolitiks to go somewhere else, listen to their outer space transmission and shake your head in belief.
And let us finish this excursion now, least we end forever lost in uncanny sonic labyrinths from which return is impossible. We reported Teeth Mountain some time ago, Ghost Science’s abstract americana was then trapped in the shining rainbow cage of a CD demo, we are happy to announce its final transmogrification into a black and heavy self-titled vinyl record which is but a suitable home for their dense psychedelic rumblings, listen to the nutritious percussive gumbo of Keinsein, the onslaught is truly fierce, tunnels are excavated into the unforgiving rump of the Holy Mountain, reaching that space at its core where walls encroach decorated with the archetypes of the tarot as scrawled in neolithic pictograms by a no-name tribe, every inch of the progression towards the heart of this secret place of knowledge is accompanied by a synth raga the voice of spirits that whisper and ululate esoteric mysteries in our hungry ears.
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SATURDAY- It’s 13 Monsters again:
At the Loft in Ship Stree