PSEU

When I first popped this album on, I thought it was going to be a mix of late King Crimson and Magma - I especially felt the hard edged angular guitar riffing and deep sonar boom of the bass lines contemplating a joint merger of said bands.

What then struck me was a complete turnover - not so much in the general feel of the album, but more in the direction of things. Sure, like others here have mentioned, there are small snippets of avant flourishes throughout, but what I hear the most - is the kind of quirky Canterbury almost Brand X kind of vibe oozing through in the sound. I thought of John Goodsal on several occasions hearing the frenetic guitar playing on here. The drums, that more than once play rhythms that reach beyond the confines of 1-2-3-4 in a way that makes you go SWOOUUUF!, - sound positively like an angrier Phil Collins with lemon juice in his eyes.

Tell you the truth, you are almost bound to catch something to your taste, if you're approaching this venture from a fusion point of view. Be that the Canterbury way of gluing multi-layered instrumentation together, or the fast paced breaks happening on a dime, although be warned here as you are facing the Zeuhl quarters with an altogether greater understanding of huge cataclysmic sound surfaces. Surfaces that get drawn out on the backbone of an incredible versatile bass, that lunches itself forward like a galloping mustang with sawed off testicles.

Another thing that lies a long way from any of the millions of jazz rock outfits, are the camp parodied operatic vocals that pop up from time to time. Damn... If you can imagine startling a wannabe opera singer in the shower cleaning up for the big audition in one of those reality shows: America's got gas, then you're not that far off. LOUOOUUEEEEUUOOO DEUUUHHH DDDOOUUHHHH!!!! Well, they certainly put a smile on my face, and apart from the humorous tweak they offer - they do sit quite comfortably next to the music, because when all is said and done, they're actually quite subtle and sparse, even if that sounds bizarre and impossible. That's one side of the vocals at least - the other bears resemblance to something entirely different...

Most of this album feels like a classic cowboys and Indians setting though, - a circular siege of the pioneering settler caravan - with the frothing warmongering scorn natives riding their horses wildly about this frightened congregation. The music here sure echoes a galloping feel, and when you then paste on the second part of the gibberish vocals, that sound like a drunk man trying to hum along in his sleep or indeed a couple of Navajos going heiaiaaaii heiaiiaaii heiaaiiaiaiai, you effectively get a rather absurd sonic spectacle. Oh my, how the old western movies would have felt differently, and perhaps a tad strange, had they been supported by Zeuhl flavoured soundtracks...

When you finally get your head around the tasty combo of Brand X gone menacing dark and broody, the closing cut opens up the faucet and serves to you a powerful ode to the French giants of yesteryear. I hear Magma, Eskaton, Eider Stellare and Dün all handed over to you in the course of a good pounding 10 minutes. It's propulsive, huge, booming, symphonic like only the French can be - and damn stunning as well. Like a good healthy kick in the liver from a guy wearing iron flippers.

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