The Lavender Flu - 'Heavy Air' (Meds)

I don't feel guilt about the non-diversity of this vinyl accumulation, or even see my tastes as homogenous. Someone recently said something to me about the whiteness of it all, which pissed me off a bit. I was quick to point out that despite being largely rooted in rock and folk, there is a  proliferation of jazz and other black American forms here, as well as African and Asian indigenous musics – plus other outliers. What he really meant to say was that because I don't really like reggae and have few hip-hop or soul records, and my vinyl accumulation is so heavily weighted towards rock, that it was somehow racially problematic. Fuck that. We like what we like, and we like what we grow out of, and I come from a background that led to a heavy interest in indie, post-punk, and psych. This is a weird intro to write about the Lavender Flu's first album, a double LP collection that I would cite (along with its followup) as one of the finest examples of modern-day psychedelia. I bring up the whiteness of my records because this record definitely comes from the same lineage that I do (Flu leader Chris Gunn was a member of the Hunches, whose last album is a brilliant slice of post-garage energy), and that's probably a lot to do with why I like it; no one would describe this as 'urban'. This made me think about the very word 'psychedelia', which most people would probably use to describe Heavy Air, and what it even means anymore. It might be best to retire this term, unless you're using it to describe a very precise and historical time in rock music (like 13th Floor Elevators or the Nuggets collections). I don't hear many thowbacks to that era in the Lavender Flu, except for the cover of Bo & the Weevils 'My Time' here. Heavy Air is a lot to take in, and it's a bit of a mess by definition - a 'kitchen sink' approach that mixes half-formed songs, full-formed songs, and bedroom experiments into a lengthy sound quilt. The band name is apt - colourful and lush, but also with an undercurrent of instability. A lot of these tracks wobble on their hind legs, and even the more straight-forward presentations have a detuned viewpoint, not intentional obfuscation but just a nice, new angle. There's a few covers here - the Godz, Townes van Zandt, and John Fahey, but these are given the Lavender take. Home-fi techniques abound, though overall there's a clarity in the soundstage that avoids this being murky tape-piss, but also has an intimacy. A lot of these tracks are Gunn with just one other musicians, rather than a cohesive band (that comes on the next record). The scraps, on their own, wouldn't add up to much, but as incidental pieces tying together a whole it gels, and these smaller movements don't feel like throwaways, or even like there are two tiers of composition on the record. Whispered spoken voices, melting bells, reverberating string plucks, slow-paced rock drumming, droning organs, tape treatments that sound like birds – from this description and the length of this, it might sound like I'm describing some Elephant 6 style band, like the first Olivia Tremor Control record. But while Gunn is no stranger to melody, earworm hooks are largely absent, making this a pleasant mystery of a record that demands repeated listens. Overall it's quite an accomplishment, feeling like the summation of a lot of things that have been happening on the West Coast in the past decade. Scott Simmons, who put out this record, plays on a lot of tracks and also had a hand in Eat Skull and Helen, and the relationship between the three can be felt despite the different applications. Yes, it's white music, 30 tracks of it, and it's pretty fucking great. 

Dead Luke - 'American Haircut' (Florida's Dying)

There's a new strain of psychedelia kicking about the American underground the last few years. It's characterised by a return to lyrical songwriting (after the more jammy, improvisatory neo-pysch made large by people like NNCK and MV/EE) and voluntarily lo-fi production techniques. Dead Luke fits right in with this, with lots of strummy guitars, drugged out organs, and reverb-drenched vocals, occasionally unintelligible. I guess this is a one-man band, though with a few guests, and a thick, full sound.  I listened to this record inside out because both sides are labeled "A", so I (of course) started with side B by accident, which leads from a hazy midpoint ('You're Bringing Me Down') into 'God Bless the Midwest, God Roast the East Coast', a rambling, scattered sketch. 'Lil' Red Ridin Hood', compositionally credited to an anonymous third party, is a deceptively complex tune. Like much of this record, it hides behind a twee wall, with home-made style casio keys and a bouncing melody. But by the end, it builds up nicely, and the recording fidelity is revealed to be more than just a 4-track mess - there's a lot of clarity there, it's just chosen sparingly. When Dead Luke stretches things out, such as 'Sunrise', it's quite welcome - there's a sea of tremolo to sail across. Said track, which ends side A and therefore ends the record for me, is a melting semi-instrumental with great Eastern tinges to the acoustics, and deep, reverberating percussion. The voices in the background are distant and murmuring, giving this track a hash bar feel. 'Trapped in Lust', the proper opener, has a stark, confident, and relatively sparse feel that shows this guy's songwriting chops. More has probably come since this came out in 2010 but I don't know where to go next - but this is a nice random pickup that fits in well with the sounds of today.

Don Cherry - 'Where is Brooklyn?' (Blue Note)

Into stereo we march; Gato's out, and Pharoah's in. Things starts off with 'Awake Nu', an unstoppably fluid juggernaut, with Grimes hitting soft tonalities over Blackwell's nervous pulse. Pharoah's really shining here cause Cherry actually holds back a lot, like he's introducing his band. The sax tones are somewhat thin, yet heavy, like they are being set in plasticene. Cherry's own bleats are much more playful compared to what he did with Gato. But that record was called Complete Communion so obviously it was about harmony. Here, a question mark in the title sets an interrogative nature, and occasionally some probing questions do come out, like at the end of 'Awake Nu'. This leads into 'Taste Maker', where we get a more ferocious cornucopia of brass, occasionally erupting. Henry Grimes takes a great bass solo, appearing like a rabid woodchuck shrouded in mist. He solos again, on 'The Thing', which closes out side 1 with a jaunty, Cherry-driven exploration that shrouded in darkness yet upbeat. The melodies aren't obvious and there's no hummable hooks, but there's a continual ebb and flow of musical ideas. When Cherry goes textural, Pharoah turns on the sweet stuff; the rhythm section is continually adjusting. One thing I didn't realise about Where is Brooklyn? until halfway through side 2 is the amount of space here. There's very few points where everyone is "all in", instead with many duo and trio moments to establish a pace and preserve continuity. Side 2 ends in an 18 minute jam called 'Unite' which is the most flowing and open piece yet in the Cherry solo repertoire, no surprise since the duration allows more exploration and space. It never stops pulsing, but also avoids severe dissonance. In short, it swings, despite variously oppositional tactics and a constantly elusive tonal centre. I love when Grimes gets simple with it -- there are brief segments where he just taps one note, letting things settle down, only to have them flare up again, bathed in cornet and sax. Overall, Where is Brooklyn? is exploratory, yet genteel; it's cover drawing is marvellously appropriate.