the Lancashire Hustlers

Only played it twice and I’m smitten to bits. Seriously, where do I begin with this? Just the right side of fried, we did at one point wonder whether we’d been sent a misspress, surely not the Lancashire Hustlers. Never ones for the obvious, Thorley and Pakes skewer the psychedelic parameters with this magical mischief making meditative mushroom, crooked and woozy, helped with a degree of playful ingenuity, the duo wilfully tear up the rule book and wander down the rabbit hole with their forthcoming ‘mindcrawl’ leading the parade. A slow burner, in fact strike that, instead read, an oddly wonky sore thumb smokily stoned amid a mystical musical mirage of Tablas, Mellotrons, finger cymbals and Taishogoto (a Japanese stringed harp replete with typewriter keys – don’t ask), all very trippy, out there and acutely off centred, its looping grooves and sense of not being quite on the same page as everyone else, somewhat forging a loose kinship with that recent Garcia Peoples current cut ‘one step behind’. But then, at the 49 second mark, as though someone has retuned the dials of an old transistor radio, something truly wonderful emerges and out of the haze the delicate dusting of a honeyed soulful early 70’s MOR pop pristine blossoms with an effervescent radiance swirling all in Harrison-esque riffs and a wonderful feel good woozy, even if it does impishly stray closely into the coda of Robertson’s ‘kool in the kaftan’. Over on the flip, a familiar Lancashire Hustlers footing can be found courtesy of ‘the song of P.Fernandez’, an ode to Brent’s pet cat all lazily weaved and distractively charmed in an affectionate 60’s psych folk fashioning that in truth had us recalling the Zombies at their most mercurial. An as yet, untitled fifth album, looms large on the horizon with a pencilling arrival date sometime Spring ’20.

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