Only a week afterreviewing their quite good self-titled reissue on Wabana, I am forcedto agree that this is the finest missive yet issued from the Bostoncollective. It's the group's first release on the Bastet label, therecord-releasing arm of the trendy Arthur Magazine, a flimsy,ink-smudged free-press monthly from Los Angeles that seems to havebecome the taste-making publication du jour for the indie folk, psychand metal scenes. Bastet has already released a limited Sunn O))) livealbum and the scene-defining Golden Apples of the Sun compilation, and here comes a third great release that is sure to solidify its status as a label to keep an eye on. No Magic Manboasts the finest quality SBHOTM live recording yet, appearing to havebeen edited down from a series of recent performances, and carefullysequenced so that it has the feel of a coherent whole, a concept albumof sorts. The loose concept is Egyptian high magical ritual, and thealbum is littered with transitional tracks that seem to have been takenfrom a 1970s TV documentary on the mysteries of Ancient Egypt, thenarrator's voice pitched down and distorted at random intervals. Thisconceptual musique concrête technique creates a hauntingly cryptic andnostalgic mood to the proceedings, and the tracks where the ensembleworks their improvisational magic are utterly hypnotizing. The grouphas matured considerably in the few years they've been playingtogether, and No Magic Man evidences this growth. Theirimprovisations spend less time meandering about as players find theirfooting, and more time locked into a solid groove. The keyboards andguitar are in especially fine form throughout the album, creatingmelodic loops of ascending and descending melodies that weave aroundeach other in a strange and hypnotic dance. Vaguely Arabic soundingscales are created with guitar and synthesizer that form perfectscaffolding over which the other eight-or-so members hang theircontributions. On "The Air Itself," Rob takes the microphone for one ofhis free-associated lysergic monologues that should be familiar toanyone who has seen the band live recently. His Bostonian accent,frequent tentative uhs and stoned, surrealistic automatism make thetrack at once hilarious and mind-expanding, which is largely the appealof a Sunburned live experience. "Yer Own Eyes & The Number None" isthe darkest and most menacing track, an Ash Ra Temple-esque jam thatsuddenly erupts into an intense whirlpool of chaotic noise, which issucked out the other end of a Sun Ra album played backwards. Bandmembers meet and communicate in trancelike rhythmic conversations thateasily dissolve and journey into ever groovier, more righteouslyfucked-up territories. Hopefully, SBHOTM can keep measuring up to thenew bar they've set with No Magic Man, as it is truly one of the most unstoppably groovy, shamanistic records yet to surface this year.samples:
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