the cosmic dead / pigs x 7

Only 300 vinyl editions of this split kicking around so if you want one you’ll need to be quick off the mark because once word starts to spread about this – and it will – they’ll be the stuff of auction sites and sleepless nights. A humungous cosmic prog release via old noise that pairs together on opposing sides of wax the Cosmic Dead and Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs (from herein referred to as Pigs x 7 to save repetitive strain). This is massive, way out and something primed for the heads among you who prefer your sounds – shall we say – coded in the kind of groove guaranteed to flip wigs with each ensemble despatching a differing head melting perspective by way of a sub 23 minute suite . The cosmic dead are a Glaswegian quartet who describe themselves as a ‘psychonautal cosmedelic’ cruise ship (we added the cruise ship part) serving up the mind expansive ’Djamba’. now we here are much recalling Organic is Orgasmic and Vert:X (fruits de mer regulars these days) not to mention Scouse psychedelicists Alien Ballroom, the initial passages lending themselves to dissipating visitations of interweaving dream dipped lysergic ambient orbs kind of Loop in serious trip mode if your in need of reference markers – very chilled and out there which at once sounds like an age soon manifests as though slowly emerging from some sort of lunar eclipse steadily beginning to rear into radar view. From therein its all gaseous drone shimmers, woozy and tripadelic as you buckle up for a cruise controlled journey across the vast cosmic realms which at points terra-morphs to incorporate mantras spoken in long dead archaic tongues whilst oscillating to a seriously flipped out psych prog beatnik signature whose stoner space pulsars marshal mystical third eye environs previously only encountered by the likes of the Ozrics or fried sonic alchemists concocting aural anthropological strains of rare sound species guaranteeing beard forming side effects. Quite stunning if you ask me. On the flip Pigs x 7 whose excellently titled ‘the wizard and the seven swines’ promises an altogether different head trip, what first had us imagining a seriously freakish and wasted flowered up removed of the baggy flowers and beads and gouged in scalping riffage plundered from some primordial ooze soon begins to kick, squall and fester like some unloved and abandoned illegitimate off spring resulting from a bunk up betweens a fierce some sounding White Hills and the Heads, in short the kind of bastardised brew you’d expect to hear melting the grooves of the agitated imprint and the with that prime packed ear gear for Cope heads to swoon to. From therein in its beatnik heaven channelling heavily on some shit faced Mugstar trajectory ripped in repetitive locked loops, strutted grooves and mutant kraut hybrids devilishly ploughing a bitched out and blistered blues brew. Essential.

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