Righteous psychers Comacozer and Blown Out are totally on the same wavelength for this latest bong-bubbling split LP on Riot Season. The two bands (from Australia and the UK, respectively) get some trippy scuzz going - one extended, ecstatic jam from Comacozer and several shorter indulgences from Blown Out.
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I could really save time on this one by making this review a bulky copypasta of my previous Blown Out reviews, but I won’t. I’ll simply reimagine what I said, what words the band’s blank-dot space void conjured: I imagine psychedelic was one of them, as was slow, as was wah, as was jam, as was solo, as was endless. And let’s really zone in on that last one: Blown Out are an endless, eternal band, making true on their space-worship by creating enough music to qualify as infinite.
Their latest side of songs shifts no goal posts amongst the stars, continuing their steady, warbling guitar solos like nothing has changed about the darkness above us. They take an extremely long time to get going, as always, creating a sparkly and meditative treatise of mini-motion on “Terraform” before amping up the distortion and shredding like hard rock astronauts on the appropriately titled “Void Sucker”. Here they sound heavier, and all the more fun for it, before finishing on the light cacophony of “Hook Up the Telepath”, where the guitars are churning through pedals and whines but never really threatening the ear drums. A nice, resplendent kinda freakout is theirs, offering a suitable distance between the universe’s unknown aggressions and the earthy ground we wonder about it from.
At this point, I’ve heard Blown Out do what they do too many times to engage, but the breakout star is Comacozer, who neatly pick up the shambled threads their split partners have left for them and raise the roof. Their noisy guitars activate like they’re trying to make an album with Blown Out rather than a split, to be part of their narrative in driving away from it. They offer one song, and it’s a long winding road with guitars that sound like power metal being turned down to affable levels via a TV remote. Around the never-ending riffs they circle in with chaotic wah and a steady rhythm section: you know the deal, by now, don’t you? Psych rock is psych rock is psych rock, good or bad, rain or shine.
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