from the LP One Bedroom, Thrill Jockey Records, 2003
Following along with the theme above is one of my all-time favorite crews, The Sea & Cake (yes, it sounds like you are saying “the ‘C’ in cake” when it’s verbalized, and yes, it’s intended, re: Gastr del Sol’s song of the same name), something of a post-rock supergroup who counts John McEntire (brain of Tortoise) as their drummer, along with other Chicago area rock nerds like Sam Prekop (Shrimp Boat) and Archer Prewitt (the Coctails). These guys likely consider post-Bitches Brew Miles Davis as an equal influence to bands like NEU! or early Kraftwerk, but some tracks really belie their love for krautrock more than others, and this is one of ‘em; shit, they get so lost in the dreamy wonderland of opening bridges that they don’t even get around to singing a word until about 3 minutes into the song, but how about those sick-ass breaks!?! Where NEU! comes across like a car firmly attached to the ground, these guys’ penchant for synthtastic madness leaves the impression of flying through outer space…
from the LP 25 TAB, Glitterhouse Records, 1991
It kills me how many people only know of Monster Magnet (MM) from their fluke brush with mainstream success (via their generally boring 1998 LP Powertrip), particularly because that exercise in generic head-banging shouldn’t even be discussed in the same breath as their earlier work: a demented, drug-addled, sludgy, soupy, psychedelic mess that felt as if Hawkwind had eaten dinner with Sabbath, both crews dosing one another’s food (with DOM and Quaaludes, respectively), and then decided to make an album--- that was a compliment, in case you weren’t sure. This “song”, which comes across like some sort of lysergic space hymn, marks the absolute apex of MM’s sonic experiments, more than half an hour’s worth of droning, skronking pandemonium that builds up around a repeating bottom end whose rhythm section easily owes as much to Can as it does to the boys in Hawkwind. This trip (…and it is a trip…) should be experienced through the glory of good headphones and strong hashish, at the least, but I’ve even had a sober friend of mine tell me it makes his head feel funny & his heart beat fast when he rocks this track, so go figure. Put bluntly: the title “Tab” isn’t just a smart name, and Monster Magnet aren’t your average stoner rock band.
from the LP Känguru, Brain Records, 1972
Moving hazily through no less than 8 different suites of musical variety, one thing you will assuredly not be while listening to this expansive jam by German acid freak’s Guru Guru is bored; indeed, some parts fluctuate so drastically that if you don’t like what you’re hearing, just a wait a couple minutes, because it’s no indication of where things might be headed next (my favorite section is the loose vibe from 5:17 – 7:30, more cowbell!!). While some krautrock bands made their reputations sounding like the control panel on a spaceship, and others upon sounding like a prehistoric drum circle, Guru Guru always comes across to me as the most literal translation from that whole scene, in that, they sound like a bunch of Germans on LSD; mind you, this is not to take away from their abilities as musicians, only to highlight the profoundly wasted vibe they brought, noticeable even within a scene that was partially founded on drug experimentation. I don’t hesitate to call this album absolutely essential for any fans of krautrock or spacey hard rock in general.
from the LP In Search of Space, UA Records, 1971
Harrowing and radiant, like a glowing crystal carafe filled with pure LSD-25, the combination of acoustic and electronic elements within this song forge a strangely perfect union that underscores Hawkwind’s entire vibe: pushing heuristic, hypnotic analysis of the past and the future; don’t be fooled by its lilting allure, this is a proclamation of environmental doom (think: Al Gore’s trip, if he wasn’t such a d-bag), and they were rather ahead of their time in delivering it, “…think about the things that we should have done before, the way things are going the end is about to fall…take a look around and see the warnings close at hand, already weeds are writing their scriptures in the sand…the morning sun is rising, casting rays across the land, already nature's calling, take heed of the warning; we took the wrong step years ago, we took the wrong step years ago, we took the wrong step years ago…” The “space log” (see: consuming vast amounts of varying psychedelic substances and attempting to compile a journal for space travel) which came in this incredible LP is, without question, one of the most drug-addled pieces of literary exorcism ever sent to press---it alone is worth the cost of a complete used copy, not to mention the incredible tunes found within. By the way, we had snow falling in 49 of 50 states yesterday. Nice.
from the LP Meddle, Harvest Records, 1971
This song is the definitive apex of space rock, voyaging free from gravity throughout the universe, traversing the windswept ice deserts of Saturn and trawling the depths of Venus’ dark indigo seas, bathing in dense layers of atmospheric sound which can leave the truly stoned individual who listens to this with headphones on wondering if they have, indeed, momentarily left the Earth---which I have to presume was the ultimate goal of space rock in the first place, right?! Floyd had tread into these waters before, albeit much more briefly (i.e. “Astronomy Domine” or “Interstellar Overdrive”), but never had they created such a mesmerizing opus as this, cinematic in both scope and delivery. It all begins with what sounds like the sonar or radar on a submarine, pinging the depths to let you know just how deep we’re gonna go; the actual noise you hear was generated by patching a friggin’ grand piano into a rotating Leslie amp, typically only done with Hammond organs at that time. The track moves through several suites, giving the listener the impression of motoring around the interplanetary atmos in a small craft, passing through a variety of colors & environments, with not a single dull moment to be found within the entire 23+ minutes of epic madness. This piece made it very clear that Pink Floyd still had a lot to say, and didn’t they go on to prove that assumption right!
from the LP You, Virgin Records, 1974
If there was a lifetime achievement award given to the most psychedelically altered band ever, the intergalactic teapot of so-called “pothead pixies” we know as Gong would surely be among the front runners, giving lysergic swimming pools like Hawkwind and the Grateful Dead a genuine run for their money. Formed around the time of the 1968 student revolution in France, Gong was ultimately the idea of Aussie ex-pat Daevid Allen & his then girlfriend and British ex-pat, Gilli Smyth; they were forced to flee during the riots, & wound up encamped on the Balearic island of Mallorca, finding other hippie musicians (they apparently discovered saxophonist Didier Malherbe living in a cave there…) while ingesting copious amounts of hashish and mushrooms--- it was during those months spent out of his mind that Allen created all the mythology that would follow Gong until his departure. This is actually the last Gong release he appeared on, and his influence here had been much diminished, the band replacing his tongue-in-cheek humor with a greater emphasis on synthesizers & spacey atmospherics; no worries though, the music is just as incredible as ever, slowly building steam until around five & a half minutes in when the train goes completely off the tracks, into a wormhole that projects you into a parallel universe, for a moment…no, really. Don’t believe me? Grab your bong and your headphones, then tell me otherwise!
from the LP Flying, Beacon Records, 1971
This gloriously hallucinogenic monster of a song is miles away from the quasi-metal vibe which gave UFO so much success later in the decade, and though it wouldn’t have been possible to take this kind of trip much farther out, we’ll never know, as it is the lasting document we have of guitarist Mick Bolton’s searing, lysergic style of blues; one of the band’s first names was “Acid” for fuck’s sake, later settling on ‘UFO’ after the club in London which served as the center of London’s freak scene & where Pink Floyd built their reputation as psychedelic ringleaders. Phil Mogg’s brawny howls are immediately recognizable, even back then, but in this tune the singing is merely background to Bolton’s alien-invasion-cum-guitar-solo, swooshing and echoing all around (grab good headphones if ya got em), much like comets through space. My attempts to figure out what happened to Mick Bolton post-UFO have been completely unsuccessful, so if anyone be aware of that, let a brother know!
from the LP Wolf City, UA Records, 1972
Expanding and unraveling like the outer reaches of some lysergic nebula, this song displays the quieter, more reflective side of Amon Düül II (ADII), a German collective of hippies and freaks who produced some of the most bizarre and enchanting music of the 1970s. While some of their music was loud and heavy enough to draw comparisons with the likes of Sabbath and Hawkwind, this lovely number glides along effortlessly like some kind of soundtrack to a Kashmiri caravan of camel-riding hashish merchants. ADII, like many of their Krautrock peers, lived on a commune of sorts and had something of a revolving door policy when it came to band members; literally, you never really know who is playing on a lot of their tracks---frankly, they probably wouldn’t even be able to remember if we asked them…
from the LP Hawkwind, United Artists Records, 1970
For most people, the psychedelic revolution which took place across most of the developed world in the late ‘60s was something of a novelty---you took LSD and other assorted hallucinogenic drugs a handful of times, tuned in and turned on, saw that the world around you didn’t change that much afterwards, and filed it all under “been there, done that.” The small bunch of others for whom this didn’t hold true rejoiced at this imminent pattern, for it meant that they would then have a lot more goodies to ingest themselves!! Hawkwind were the psychedelic overlords of the UK and Europe, building a reputation and following that rivaled that of the Dead’s in America; totaling over 50 members in & out during its forty year existence, the cult of Hawkwind is almost more a social experiment than a traditional band. For one thing, some members had never previously played any musical instruments before joining the band (some might argue that they never did, even when they were in the band), case-in-point being the mighty ‘DikMik’: he was just a hashish and pot dealer they knew, on his way to India, when they asked him to join the band and had him play this gigantic audio generator, which made all sorts of squelchy electronic blips and beeps. Though their music would get increasingly loud and aggressive with subsequent releases, many of them have said in interviews that the sound on this, their self-titled debut album, is the purest example of what Hawkwind was about; namely, acid, outer space, and playing free gigs. The words of this track implore the listener to question all they assume they know about life, “…the dream world that you’ve found, will one day drag you down; the mirror of illusion reflects the smile…” Relative to all the dippy, flower-power lyrics sung by other bands of that era who were indulging in the same chemicals, Dave Brock’s words here are rather harsh and penetrating; “…a box that you’re still livin’ in, I cannot see for why; you think you’ve found perception’s doors, they open to a lie…” You get the idea that these blokes weren’t looking to just peacefully expand their minds, but rather push people right over the edge in order to give them a breakthrough; in their own words, taken from the back cover of the LP, “This is the beginning…we started out trying to freak trippers…now we are trying to levitate their minds…” Dig it, man.
from the LP One Bedroom, Thrill Jockey Records, 2003
