Category: Rewind Reviews

Rewind Review: Acid Dad – Levitation Sessions (2021)

Released in the early days of the pandemic, Acid Dad‘s Levitation Sessions caught the band in a weird moment that many other bands were experiencing: They had a new album and couldn’t tour to promote it. Thankfully, the folks at the Reverberation Appreciation Society brought them into a safe studio and let them play many tracks of Take It from the Dead and some new stuff they were whipping up during lockdown – because, like every other band out there, what else were they going to do?

Staring with cool synths, interesting vocal samples, and other stuff that sounds like the opening to some early 1990s VHS instructional video, “Contact” immediately lets you know that this is going to be a weird trip (I mean, just look at the album cover.). “BBQ,” a staple food of their hometown of Austin, Texas, is a shoegazey tale of well-made plans going wrong at the slightest opportunity. “Mess with us and you’ll die hard,” they sing on “Die Hard.” The song is fairly upbeat for such heavy lyrics. It’s like a happy warning.

“Dissin'” tells the tale of pushing away a potential lover who brings far too much drama and not enough respect to the table. It has this cool, slow, psychedelic sound to it that’s just a touch sludgy. “Living with a Creature” and “Bada Bing” get a little countrified. Do I detect some CCR influence? “Marine” carries this sound along as Acid Dad tells a tale of dropping out of military school to go back to old friends who tend to overdose on party drugs. The guitars chug along like the best intentions of the song’s lead character and then expands into a groovy solo.

The groove appropriately kicks up a notch on “RC Driver,” which has a great guitar jam in the middle of it and killer bass throughout it. The groove cruises along so well that it flows into “2Ci” without a bump. They barely give you time to breathe before they get into “Don’t Get Taken,” the pace of which is like jumping on a skateboard and going straight down the middle of South Congress Street toward the river in Austin at midnight on Friday. If you know, you know.

They get heavy on “Mistress,” both in terms of the heft of the drums and bass, and the lyrics about being dragged down by giant squids and how love can be crushing. “Mr. Major” blends psychedelic jams with punk lyrics, and “Djembe” (which clocks in at over seven minutes) has the band telling us how ashamed they are of not only some of their past sins, but also everything we, as a society, are doing wrong.

It’s a cool session from a cool band who are exploring a lot of different ways to approach the psychedelic genre.

Keep your mind open.

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Rewind Review: Lumer – Disappearing Act EP (2021)

When I first saw the four Yorkshire lads known as Lumer, it was at the 2022 Levitation France music festival. They closed one of the stages one night with their fiery brand of post-punk. They were seen in the festival crowd throughout the day, but they were never just strolling or meandering. They always looked like they were on a mission. They walked with purpose and almost a daring stride that conveyed that they would happily chat with you and sign some merch and share a pint, but one should not try them under any circumstances.

Their 2021 EP Disappearing Act also conveys this feeling of four tough men on a mission. “She’s Innocent” starts the act with gunslinger swagger and Ben Jackson‘s guitar chords that sound like they’re being cooked in a cast iron skillet held by Link Wray. “First Is Too Late” has an urgency to it that is difficult to describe in any good detail. It sounds like they’re playing before the fire in the studio causes the roof to fall on them. Singer Alex Evans yells / growls / howls the vocals that express his lack of apathy for apologies from people who give them out like jellybeans.

Benjamin Morrod‘s bass leads the charge on the title track, with the vocals (and sometimes Jackson’s guitar) sounding like they’re blaring through a megaphone that has a beehive in it. The beat switches on “White Czar” (thanks to Will Evans‘ agile drumming) can leave you shaken if you’re not ready. Alex Evans’ vocal delivery on “By Her Teeth” remind me a lot of Jon King‘s on some of Gang of Four‘s tracks. The song seems to be about one man’s obsession with a woman, or perhaps several of them, that might lead to his doom.

“The Sheets” might be a “walk of shame” song after a passionate night, or one of loneliness and regret. Either way, the whole band cooks on it. Morrod’s groove is subtle, yet relentless. Jackson’s guitar sounds like a jet roar, and Will Evans’ cymbal work on the track is impressive. The EP ends with “Another Day at the Zoo,” which has Alex Evans comparing the endless parade of ads, douchebags, politicians, and old, rich dudes to people wandering through zoos and laughing at the animals (us) they’ve put in physical and metaphorical cages. It’s a raucous, rabid track that threatens to wreck everything around it.

Like I mentioned, Lumer are on a mission. They want us to wake up before we disappear into that zoo. This EP throws the cage doors open for you.

Keep your mind open.

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Rewind Review: Failure – Magnified (2020 remix and remaster)

Failure‘s second album, Magnified, had the band refining their Californian shoegaze sound, with Ken Andrews and Greg Edwards doing all of the playing, recording, and mixing themselves. The sound was bigger, bolder, and starting their frog leap toward outer space, but Andrews and Taylor knew they were taking on a big more than even they could chew – especially with the percussion. They put out an ad seeking a drummer, and it was eventually answered by Kellii Scott, who heard Magnified‘s first three tracks and knew he had to get on board the Failure train. As Scott has told in interviews, he missed the original audition time and was nearly fired before Andrews and Edwards heard him play one beat, but thankfully they gave him another chance and were sold within moments thanks to the raw power he creates behind a drum kit. He later joined the band full-time during their tour with Tool and has been with them ever since.

“Let It Drip” is the first of the tracks Scott heard that made him think, “Damn, I need to be in this band,” and it’s not surprising. Andrews’ guitar riffs on it are downright urgent, Edwards’ bass sounds like a grumpy grizzly, and the drums both of them put on it take off like a rocket – a theme that would continue through Failure’s work ever since. “Moth” was the second track Scott heard, and it’s one of Failure’s biggest hits. The power of it is unstoppable, and Scott probably pushed in all of his poker chips as soon as he heard the first verse.

As powerful as “Moth” is, “Frogs,” somehow, hits even harder. Edwards’ bass swings like a battle axe, and Scott was floored by this point of hearing them. The drum tracks on it hit so hard they seem to be shattering everything in sight. Andrews sings a tale of someone spinning into, and then embracing, madness (“Frogs are bouncing off my brain stem. So excited to be sane. Didn’t it seem kind of silly, the way the doctors carried on? So, now that I’ve become a monster to them, I’ll have to keep their fear turned on all night long.”).”

“Bernie” is a song about a woman they knew back in the 1990s who had “the way to feel good times” and lived “on the way to the park.” It’s no secret that Failure were battling various addictions around this time, so this song about a woman they knew who could help them out at any time of day (“We don’t have to wait until dark.”) is both poignant and epic. I also can’t help if it’s sort of a companion piece to “Leo” – a song on Fantastic Planet about someone in drug-induced paranoia.

As if the album didn’t rock enough, they stomp the gas pedal on the title track – a song about how we’re all just ants burning under the sun as we run through the race of life. It makes a sudden stop and then wallops you with acoustic guitar chords and weird, yet soothing reversed synths. It’s sort of an unnamed, hidden “Segue” – a short instrumental track that Failure would feature on future albums, starting with Fantastic Planet.

The beats on “Wonderful Life” (a song about struggling against the tempting spiral down into depression and exhaustion) sound simple at first, but you soon realize are deceptively deft. They stop and start with suddenness that can be jolting to the uninitiated. Those deft beats continue on “Undone” – the album’s first single – and uses looping to cool effects that continue their evolution into space rock. These beats are even more impressive when you consider Edwards recorded them one piece at a time and later edited them together.

“Wet Gravity,” a tale about a woman on the edge of madness (“Brain squeals, the same time as last time.”) who puts river stones in her pockets to give herself a physical sense of being grounded (the “wet gravity” of the title). The band unleashes a damn lightning storm on it. The guitar solo blazes, the drum hits boom, and the bass licks roar. It’s hard to determine who’s playing lead on it at any time…and then, like “Magnified,” it transforms into an instrumental mind-melt.

“Empty Friend” has Andrews singing about a “friend” who subtly kept him from achieving some of his goals (“Some empty friend who talked me into sleep…and threw my wings into the blazing sun.”), and “Small Crimes” is a sizzling, brooding track about a man who’s considering burning his world down to destroy his fears and the cacophony of everyone’s complaints. Edwards’ bass on it is the low growl in the protagonist’s brain.

As you might’ve guessed by now, depression, madness, existential crises, the hidden meanings of dreams, the complexity of relationships, and the wonder of what lies beyond us and within us are common themes in Failure’s work, and Magnified is a magnifying glass on those themes in them and the rest of us.

Keep your mind open.

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Rewind Review: Viagra Boys – Consistency of Energy (2016)

Viagra Boys‘ debut EP, Consistency of Energy, is a good blueprint of how you should come out of the gate with your new band: Bring all of the energy, all of the time.

The Swedish post / art-punk band love poking fun at “bro culture,” toxic masculinity, consumerism, fashion, perceptions of what is or isn’t beautiful, rich snobs, drug culture, pop culture, and more. Their name alone is a poke in the eye to dudes who willingly trade raging hard-ons now for chronic heart and blood pressure issues later.

The EP’s opening track, “Research Chemcials,” is a home run in their first at-bat. The heavy bass tone from Henrik Höckert builds and builds until the track breaks open like a freight train without breaks coming down a hill toward a bus of school kids stalled at a railroad crossing. In it, lead singer Sebastian Murphy both rails against and praises the drugs he’s taking (“Research chemicals got me bleeding from my ears. Research chemicals…They make ’em better every year.”). There are times in the track when you can’t tell if Oskar Carls‘ saxophone is broken or in proper working order, which means he’s either a master player or a madman (not unlike Captain Beefheart on saxophone), which means it’s great.

On “I Don’t Remember That,” Murphy tells a tale of him being so drunk and / or high, that he can’t remember, or refuses to admit, all the crazy stuff he’s done the last couple nights – despite multiple witnesses telling him he “peed on the carpet” and “broke your mother’s vase.” Meanwhile, Benjamin Vallé‘s guitar rips through the track like a power washer hose left unattended on full blast.

The perils of too much drug use continue on “Can’t Get It Up,” in which Murphy wants to have some sexy time with his lady friend, but is too burnt-out on snorted research chemicals to give it the ole college try. Tor Sjödén‘s drum beats are the sound of Murphy’s heart pounding from sexual excitement and performance anxiety (“I didn’t mean to ruin your night, girl. I truly do apologize, but since we’re lyin’ here doin’ nothin’, I might as well do another line.”).

The final track, “Liquids,” is about Murphy’s desire to have his lover give him a golden shower (as he admitted on stage when I saw them play it live in February 2023, “That’s a song about gettin’ peed on.”). Murphy is a slave to his desires and Höckert‘s thumping bass is both the throbbing in Murphy’s brain (“She makes me sick, my brain hurt. She’s got my weakness under her skirt.”) and Martin Ehrencron‘s subtle synths are the power of the woman he wants to dominate him (“She’s got me shaking down to my gizzard. She speaks just like some kind of lizard. She’s dressed in robes like some weird wizard. I fantasize until I get blisters. She ain’t no human, I ain’t no ape. I want her liquids all on my face.”).

It’s just four tracks, but they’re four tracks of raw power, and it was a great way for them to launch their assault on an unsuspecting world.

Keep your mind open.

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Rewind Review: The Last Four Digits – Don’t Move (2016)

You often hear of a lot of music collections being described as “essential.” The term gets used to the point of near-meaninglessness, but in the case of Don’t Move, the collection of three years’ worth of material from both incarnations of Indiana synth and new wave legends The Last Four Digits, it’s true. In another universe, The Last Four (4, or 5) Digits are as well known as The B-52s or The Ramones, but in this reality, their limited output only makes their legend better.

The first eight tracks of this compilation are songs from the first version of the band, The Last Four (4) Digits with Steve Grigdesby (rhythm guitar and vocals), John Koss drums and vocals), Mike Sheets (bass and vocals), and Richard Worth (lead guitar and vocals) – with synthesizers and mixing with Dave “A.Xax” Fulton. They’re all jittery, crunchy punk cuts that remind you of those scary kids you’d see hanging out of the mall in the early 1980s (I was one of them, by the way.). Heck, “Leave Me Alone” is practically a theme song for Generation X. The weird angles of Worth’s guitar and vocals on “Fast Friends” reminds you of Joy Division tracks.

Their version of Bo Diddley‘s / Captain Beefheart‘s “Diddy Wah Diddy” swaps out most of the raunchy guitars for weird synths…and it still works. “Another Sex Crime” has plenty of swagger, and “City Streets” is grungy synth-punk that would make early Devo proud. You’ll want “(I Want to Be an) Undertaker” on all of your Halloween playlists after hearing it, and you might as well add “Coughing Up Blood” while to your “birthday songs” playlists while you’re at it. “(I Sold My Soul to) Fotomat” is perhaps the beginning of what would become one of the main themes of the second version of the band.

The Last Four (5) Digits had Sheets switch from bass to guitar, kept Joss on drums, and brought Fulton out from behind the mixing board, and added Brad “Mr. Science” Garton on keyboards and vocals and Julie Huffaker on bass and vocals. As the liner notes of Don’t Move will tell you, they embraced “Abstract Commercialism” and began including TV themes, commercial jingles, and advertising concepts in their songs and live shows. “Don’t Move” takes on a darker tone that some of their other tracks, which I love.

“Liquids” is a great example of their love of commercial culture, sampling early 1980s ads and singing about drinking colored liquids, eating colored foodstuffs, and taking lots of drugs. “Act Like Nothing’s Wrong” is a fun song about trying to figure out what’s wrong with a lover while also trying not to piss off that same lover while doing it. “Babaloo No More” is a tale of Lucy Ricardo killing Ricky after he has an affair and Fred and Ethel threatening to boot her out of their apartment if she can’t make the rent. It’s funny, weird, and gives a hard kick in the junk to re-run TV. Their cover of “Mack the Knife” is equally strange, and “I Have Rental Car” is the sound of entitled people yelling about crap that doesn’t really matter.

The last eleven tracks on Don’t Move are a recording of their performance at CBGB‘s on Valentine’s Day 1982. They open with the simple announcement of “Hi. We’re The Last Four Digits,” and then go straight in to “Liquids.” Huffaker’s bass is so heavy on the live version of “Leave Me Alone” that it almost levels the room. They turn the grisly “Coughing Up Blood” into a pogo-inducing rocker, but change the lyric “Coughing up blood on your birthday!” to “Coughing up blood on your Valentine!” in honor of that night.

They cover of “Return to Sender” and then throw down a thudding version of “Act Like Nothing’s Wrong,” followed by a nearly panicked version of “Babaloo No More.” Up next come covers of “Mack the Knife” and the theme to the wild sci-fi film The Green Slime. The live version of “I Have Rental Car” is even more frenetic and unhinged than the studio version.

It’s a crucial collection if you’re into vintage no wave / new wave stuff, and the addition of the live tracks is a boon for collectors and enthusiasts. Don’t skip it if you can find it. I scored it for 99 cents at Reckless Records in Chicago earlier this year – a massive steal.

Keep your mind open.

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Rewind Review: Esquivel – Music from a Sparkling Planet (1995)

Music from a Sparkling Planet is a wonderfully titled compilation of Esquivel‘s space-age bachelor pad music consisting of Esquivel’s arrangements of other contemporaries’ music and his own compositions.

“Cachita” instantly plunges you into the groovy swimming pool of his music with his trademark blend of “latin-esque” sounds, beats, and grooves. “Cherokee” is idyllic to the point of mild hypnosis. “Third Man Theme” is more upbeat than anything you’d see in the Orson Welles movie. It belongs in a goofy European sex comedy from the 1960s about a guy who’s always bumped from hooking up with a lady because he’s the third wheel.

The electric piano on “La Bikina” is delightful. “La Paloma” and “Cachito” (the brother to “Cachita”) keep you in the lounging mood. The mellow accordion on “Cachito” is a neat touch. On “Granada,” he throws in those vocal “Zu zu zu” sounds that only he could make work in a tune, and combines them with Ennio Morricone-like trumpet.

“Question Mark (What Can You Do)” is one of his fully original compositions and arrangements, and it’s bold and bouncy and all-around fun (like the entire collection). “My Blue Heaven” is a quick, jumpy number that hops straight into his excellent version of “All of Me,” which practically throws you into a time machine and dumps you on the Las Vegas Strip circa 1965.

“Poinciana” is great example of Esquivel’s work. It has all the elements you want: Bold brass sections, jazzy piano, sultry vocal sounds, exotic percussion, and slightly psychedelic guitar work. “Flower Girl of Bordeaux” is perfect for rushing through the streets of a foreign land with someone beautiful in a quest of sexy adventure. “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” sends us out on a “cha-cha-cha.”

You can’t go wrong with stuff like this. It puts you in a better mood and transports you to faraway places that might be on Earth or in outer space.

Keep your mind open.

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Rewind Review: Tinariwen – Emmaar (2014)

In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been on a Tinariwen kick this month.

Emmaar is an album they released in 2014 and was recorded in a different desert than they one in which they live and sing about in Algeria. Emmaar was recorded in Joshua Tree, California in the spring of 2013. They were amid cacti, mountain flowers, horses, a different kind of heat, cowboy culture, and probably a bunch of hippy Californians. They were far from their homeland, which might’ve fueled the songs on Emmaar (The Heat on the Breeze) – as they are about the Tuareg people and their struggles and the peace of their home desert. One can’t help but wonder if Tinariwen saw Southwestern Native Americans as their own desert nomads and felt kinship with them.

After all, the opening track is “Toumast Tincha” (“The People Have Been Sold Out”), and the album’s first lyrics translate to “The ideals of the people have been sold out, my friends. Any peace imposed by force is bound to fail and give way to hatred.” Add sizzling guitars to that kind of piercing imagery and you get a powerful track. “Chaghaybou” is a song about a man who reflects the proud spirit of the Tuareg people.

“Arhegh Danagh” (“I Want to Tell”) is a great example of the “desert blues” Tinariwen play so well. It blends haunting guitar sounds and hand percussion with deep Delta blues lyrics like “Today’s love is like a mirage. The closer you get, the further away it goes. It’s been ten years since love left me, since it deserted my soul and no longer crosses my path…” I mean, Howlin’ Wolf sang stuff like that every night. “Timadrit in Sahara” (“Youth in Sahara”) is a call to action of the Tuareg kids to challenge the world. In reverse, “Imidiwan Ahi Sigdim” (“Friends, Hear me”) is a call to the band’s own generation to remember those who sacrificed before them but also to not get trapped in the past and old ways of thinking that destroyed so many.

“Tahalamot” is a beautiful song about a woman so beautiful that the singer puts on his best robes and musk and brings out his best saddle to ride to her like a nobleman. The droning bass and snappy guitar exude the man’s confidence and determination to see her again and win her heart. “Sendad Eghlalan” (“This Constant Lethargy”) is another call for the Tuareg men to snap out of being “engrossed and seduced by a world that’s forever advancing.” It’s interesting to note that women are included in this cry, as they’ve already figured out all this and are able to see through the illusions far easier than us stubborn dudes.

“Imidiwanin Ahi Tifhamam” (“Friends, Understand Me!”) is a song about love that has come and gone, but there are no regrets – only fond memories and lessons taken to heart. “Koud Edhaz Emin” (“Even if I Seem to Smile”) has the singer putting on a brave face as he watches so many of his brothers suffering from oppression, illusions they willfully embrace, and the pursuit of materialistic pleasures while they have far better things like Tuareg songs and music to enjoy. “Emajer” is delightfully playful, and the closer, “Aghregh Medin” (“I Call on Man”), a call for unity, is like a mantra.

It’s another beautiful record by Tinariwen, among their many others, and the blend of African and U.S. desert culture is a powerful incense you’ll want to float around you for a long while.

Keep your mind open.

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Rewind Review: Esquivel – Cabaret Mañana (1995)

Cabaret Mañana is an excellent collection of the space-age composer, maestro, bandleader, musician, and arranger, Juan Garcia Esquivel, who was so cool that he could just go by his last name like Karloff, Lugosi, Bowie, Kubrick, Hitchcock, and Morricone.

The compilation covers tracks from 1958 to 1967 and begins with “Mini Skirt,” which was only released in Mexico and Puerto Rico until this album was released in 1995. It’s a fun track about one of Esquivel’s favorite subjects, women, complete with wolf whistle’s and sexy piano riffs.

“Johnson Rag” blends big brass sections with singers singing “Zu-zu-zu” again and again. Esquivel was known as mixing traditional sounds with plenty of outsider stuff like nonsense lyrics just for the sound of them or putting Chinese bells in Latin music. His arrangement of Cole Porter‘s “Night and Day” sounds like it could be a Bond film theme at one point, and then bachelor pad music in the next. “El Cable” is so happy that it could probably banish rainclouds if you played it loud enough.

“Harlem Nocturne” also sounds like an action film theme, and Esquivel did write a lot of music for action TV shows (Miami Vice, The Six Million Dollar Man, and The A-Team among them). “Mucha Muchacha” is one of two tracks on the compilation, the other being “Estrellita,” that are from his Latin-Esque album. Esquivel was so committed to capturing stereo sound on that album that he divided his orchestra in half and had them play simultaneously in separate studios while he and another conductor worked together via closed-circuit television.

Yeah, that was the kind of work ethic he had.

“Time on My Hands” reminds me of some of Ennio Morricone‘s work with its ticking clock setting a constant beat while a slightly sorrowful trumpet plays in another room. “Malagueña” transports you to an exotic desert land on another planet. His take on “Sentimental Journey” is a blast and loaded with his trademarks of space-pop sound, flirting whistles, and those lovely ladies singing “zu-zu-zu.”

The percussion on “Limehouse Blues” is delightfully weird, especially when you mix it with Tiki bar guitar riffs and synths that sound like they’re drunk on margaritas. “April in Portugal” shows off Esquivel’s piano skills. “Question Mark (Que Vas a Hacer)” sounds like the opening theme of a 1960s European sex comedy. His version of “It Had to Be You” is bawdy and beautiful, suitable for night clubs and strip clubs.

“Yeyo” is snappy and a bit bratty (in a fun way). “Lullaby of Birdland” practically struts its sexy stuff down the boulevard on a hot summer day. “Flower Girl from Bordeaux” is full of bold trumpet work, jazz lounge piano, and exotic vocal sounds that create a luscious cocktail.

It’s a fun, lovely compilation from one of the best composers of the 1960s and should be heard by many.

Keep your mind open.

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Rewind Review: Ram Dass & Kriece – Cosmix (2008)

What do you get when you mix lectures on Zen, the cosmos, the soul, the Tao, and the journey of the self with wicked bass and beats? If you’re lucky, you get something as cool as Cosmix by philosopher Ram Dass and Australian DJ Kriece.

The album has parts of Dass’ lectures under Kriece’s beats, and neither overwhelms the other. They perfectly blend to promote each other. “Mystic Poetry” has Dass talk about embracing cosmic love while Kriece puts down snappy, toe-tappy beats behind him. “Thousands of thoughts go by, like clouds in the sky,” Dass says on “Thoughts” – a great track about non-attachment to the things that keep us from experiencing the present.

“Mantra” is downright groovy, mixing Dass’ chants and Kriece’s dance beats in perfect unison. This will be stuck in your head for hours, and that’s a good thing. “Stuck” has Dass discussing how he moved away from psychotropic drugs and into deep meditation.

“Breath Inside the Breath” brings the beats to the forefront. “The soul is unique. It has its unique karma,” Dass tells us at the beginning of the beautiful “Dream Dance.” Kriece’s synths shimmer as Dass explains how the soul can liberate itself from attachments through various incarnations. It’s heavy stuff, but heavenly stuff.

“Do you hear that?” Dass asks as rain drops and thunder rolls ahead of Kriece’s synth beats. “That’s peace.” Dass asks us to find peace in the sounds (and silence) around us, and Kriece’s beats (and the spaces between them) nudge us toward it. On “Spacesuit for Earth,” Dass’ words of “When you take an incarnation, it’s like getting into a space suit…” begin the track and soon he’s talking about why we feel separate from each other, from the world around us, and the universe, and Kriece’s hypnotizing synths are soon taking us beyond that universe and Dass is telling us that we’ve been crammed into “a conceptual model since birth…From your point of view, it’s the only reality most of the time.”

“Desire” is both a lecture on the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism and an ambient house track. The closer, “Additya Hridayam,” mixes what sounds like ambient crowd noise from a bus station with Dass’ echoing chants and mantras. It reminds us to slow down in the chaos of our daily lives, to step back from the rush to chasing a buck or get to the magical “golden goodie” (as Dass’ contemporary Alan Watts described it) that we think will make us happy.

It’s a neat album that mixes drum and bass and Zen, Taoist, and Hindu philosophy. What’s not to like?

Keep your mind open. This album will help in that regard.

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Rewind Review: Failure – In the Future Your Body Will Be the Furthest Thing from Your Mind (2018)

If Failure‘s 2015 album, The Heart Is a Monster, picked up where 1996’s Fantastic Planet left off, then their 2018 album, In the Future Your Body Will Be the Furthest Thing from Your Mind, doesn’t pick up where THIAM left off. It lifts off the ground and takes the band even further into the cosmos.

“Dark Speed” gets things off to a groovy start with Greg Edwards‘ funky bass line that will have you tapping your fingers on the steering wheel or your hot rod or your space cruiser. The bass gets heavier on “Paralytic Flow,” as do Ken Andrews‘ vocals about lust, desire, and passion. “Pennies” is one of those mellow tracks that Failure does so well: Simple, soft vocals, almost orchestral arrangements, and floating-in-space sound throughout the whole thing.

The album includes three “Segues” (numbers 10, 11, and 12), which begun with Fantastic Planet and have continued onto multiple albums since then. These tracks are all instrumentals either linking one song to the next or standing on their own as meditations. “Segue 10” is one of the meditative tracks, which clears your head before the somewhat menacing “No One Left.” Kellii Scott pounds out a lot of excess energy he had in the studio that day on it.

The drums and bass on “Solar Eyes” come to kick ass and take names. Andrews encourages us all to rest on “What Makes It Easy,” which is almost a soft love song. “Segue 11” sounds like it combines whale song with a thunderstorm. The slow build of “Found a Way” is like the sensation of watching an approaching comet. It’s a song about a break-up (“I finally found a way to release you and I don’t need anything you left me.””) wrapped in a power-rock track.

Scott’s drumming on “Distorted Fields” is wild and full of what almost sound like random drum fills, but then you realize he’s playing in advanced time signatures that will make your head spin. The groove of “Heavy and Blind” is wicked. “Another Post Human Dream” is a ballad for a prom at Phillip K. Dick High School. “Apocalypse Blooms” is the song you play in the car as you’re leaving that prom and heading for the make-out spot overlooking a neon-lit city with the knowledge it might be the last night of planet Earth.

“Come meet me in the silence,” Andrews sings on “Force Fed Rainbow” – a song great for leaving the comfort of a space station for the unknown, endless silence of space. “The Pineal Electorate” (with Edwards on lead vocals) reveals the band’s love of The Beatles‘ psychedelic era.

It’s another solid, cosmic entry in Failure‘s discography, and an album that will thinking of big-picture science and even bigger picture thoughts on humanity, technology, and the relationships between both.

Keep your mind open.

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