Whacked out. But not necessarily far out.
Sleepy Sun: Embrace
Way back in 1998 I lent my dad’s copy of Neil Young‘s vastly underated Silver & Gold, the tenuous third part of the Harvest trilogy to my friend Frank.
Unbeknownest to me, Frank was just entering into the second phase of a drug-induced depressive freakout.
He’d been low. Now he was seeing Jesus in the mirror. And before anyone could take in the severity of Frank’s condition he’d dumped his computer, clothing, possessions and Silver & Gold in a neighbours skip outside his flat.
More worryingly he bought a coach ticket taking him to an airport where he boarded a stationary, out of use, plane and in his fucked up state thought he was controlling a one-way mission to Iceland.
He wasn’t. And it wasn’t long before airport staff saw him staring into the lost in a lifejacket.
Frank was sectioned. Not for long. Just long enough to get sober and rid himself of the demons in his mind.
Nowadays Frank is sorted and Silver & Gold is housed back in my dad’s collection.
San Fran’s Sleepy Sun probably think they’re making the type of aural sensation that sits alongside this kind of state of affairs; just enough drone, psyche, woozy drawled vocal hisses and tripped out haze which reflects fucked up minds.
But really they’re only half way there and for the most part it’s a muddled bag of cliche and methods done to death, and better before. Hats off for the lunatic rock out on Snow Goddess which sounds like Brightblack Morning Light being beaten to death by Black Mountain.
For fans of: Mountain goats, new fangled hippy religions, anything on Teepee Records.
Sleepy Sun at myspazz