hazy jags of home-made jam. thirty five minutes, plumes spooned-out from three hours of spooked psych. free and easy, loose-limbed and fancy-free. kaleidoscope patterns slowly emerge from dilated compound eyes. shit shifts slowly in anfangland. awkward (a)symmetry, repeato-phrasings, mirror shapes; liquid, languid, flowing. opiate dreams, pharmacological hymnals, aetheric strum and clatter. feels formless at times, an amorphous smoky gloop, séance ectoplasm trailing from wood to skin to string. is everybody in? morrison asked. yeah not so much funereal as ceremonial lysergia. inverse origami expansion, like the best mv&ee instrumental unfurling. then… staggering off the floor, benzedrine kicking in, they go wandering down some forgotten path, exploring bleary rock choucroute garage fuzz, where the flat-lined horizon bursts into fucking space(man)…

southern records