earthling society

First of three albums featured in this missive which in terms of mid season polling are all proving strong contenders for the top spot in our end of year voting. Surely in need of no introductions in these pages Earthling Society have in recent years acquitted themselves as one of the nations finest purveyors of progressive psych whose musicality, vision and originality is perhaps only matched by those other bonged out beatniks Cranium Pie. Via the adored and highly thought of Riot Season imprint comes ‘England have my bones’ – an opus so out there and lost in its own moment that it should by rights elevate Earthling Society to psych’s topper-most table and with it set the bar level to which all progressive psyche releases coming in its wake should be measured several notches upwards. An absolute freak storm, if these dudes where Japanese then religious cults would be sprouting the record buying globe over. In short ’England have my bones’ is the most out there off your face experience you can have without resorting to chemical stimulants, a freakishly terra-forming and mind warping odyssey that trips out voyaging far beyond the audiac astral plateaus ventured by heavyweights the likes of Gnod, Floorian and primordial undermind. Its where vision, creativity and craft converge sublimely into a seamlessly fluid forked tongue pressed upon a palette vibrant in colour that sumptuously airbrushes the lines between psych, prog, wyrd folk and pop. The eleven minute colossus ‘Aiwass’ opens the set, a shape shifting snake dancing mirage of drone mysticism that literally morphs amid the deeply hypnotic trim of eastern accents and fuzzed our vapour trails to mushrooms and assume mass, definition and depth which for all its woozy and fried felicitations might well in the final analysis prove to be the Earthling ones most pop moment given that by scratching away at its pyrotechnical riffola and its shroom enhanced kookiness the blighter might be favourably seen in some quarters as a psychedelic head trip between the Paris Angels, Wonky Alice and World of Twist. Somewhere else lurks the seductive baroque dream weave that is ’Tortuga’ spiriting its way through your defences like some heaven sent sonic herald crafted from the parts of the chocolate watch band and ghost. ’England has my bones’ – the shortest thing here – is a head scrambling exercise in slowly returning back to normality following some mystical visit to magic mushroom land, after a frenzied freeform bout of Henry Cow-esque art jazz noodling much like the type of stuff bent out of shape by that frazzled dude Andy Pyne and kicked out with much welcome regularity on his foolproof project imprint, it then stops, goes silent and picks up the baton in the kind of hazy and ghost like woozy dreamland that admirers of the mighty Grails may well warm to. All said nothing quite prepares for their mind fracturing cover of Alice Coltrane’s ’journey into Satchidananda’ – a 15 minute trip to bonged out land – this is the place where your mind just disconnects from any notion of reality, absolutely gone, totally off radar and a truly zonked out and stoned beauty which aside touching base with blue cheer, acid mothers, the much missed green milk from the planet orange and more importantly the criminally underappreciated Walking Seeds is liable to melt turntables as well as minds, be warned some listening disciples might not make it back to base in one piece. Out via the ever adored riot season imprint. http://www.riotseason.com