KWCW

Psychedelia ain’t what it used to be. No more LSD-induced ragas: gone are the 17-minute epics with unending drum solos. No, San Francisco’s Gris Gris have much more dubious and emancipating plans for the pseudo-sub-genre.

Their latest aural missive, For the Season, finds the erstwhile groovies colliding demonic chants with layers of deadly organs and free-jazz horns on some tracks and hypnotizing the listener en Espanol on yet another (”Cuerpos Haran Amor Extrano”). While the results sound suspiciously reminiscent of some Turtles or Zombies tracks (not to mention the nefarious Turtle-Zombies hybrid), the Gris Gris reinvent the sonic acid trip by multiplying the number of organs involved, thus reclaiming it from its usual incarnations as Acid-House or, dare I say it, Acid-Jazz. Certainly, whatever musical shape acid should take, it should remain nameless. The Gris Gris understand this essential musical maxim, if at times the psychedelic agent creates such a think smoke that it obscures the real elements at play.

Among highlights (or should I say noteworthy trips) of the album is an anti-ode to Jesus with rolling, thumping drums and a melody that fucks with the time signature. “Pick Up Your Raygun”, though it takes about 2 minutes to really get rolling, stands out as well for its apparent malevolence and outright resemblence to “Paint it Black”. Another standout is the anthemic “Year Zero”. And all of this is very enjoyable while sober. Really. For a look at a not-so-sober take on the album, I leave you with my alterego, Bruce Banner:

“Grrrrrr…Evil Tom want play in drum circle!”

Returning with an EP several albums after the release of their instrumental masterpiece Spine and Sensory, San Diego outfit Tristeza hasn’t lost its knack for creepily introspective rock. On Bromas, a short EP out on Better Looking Records, the sort of experimental jazz and pseudo-electronic vibe we’ve come to expect from the band is tighter and considerably less repetitive than earlier works. However, there’s a slight sense that venturing into smooth jazz territory is not always out of the question, and the only element that prevents me from calling ‘Metheny!’ on the EP’s title track is the ominous minor-key structure of the song. It’s certainly been a while since I’ve heard evil easy listening.

“Pingle Language”, the second track, is an ever quieter brooding composed of electronic snare rolls and icy pings in the high register, featuring most notably the absence of jangly guitar that was the signature of their brand of instrumental rock. “Enveloped” mutates this brooding vibe into an ambient shuffle, a sort of unnoticed and hushed prelude into the extended mix of the title track (which doesn’t sound all that different from the original).

Bromas is certainly a mysterious EP in the fact that, at three new tracks, it may only be a single. Even more confounding to the listener is the band’s seeming abandonment of guitar as the centerpiece in the two middle songs of the album. The title track is certainly worth a listen, and the album could be considered a success on that merit alone, however, the additional guitar-less tracks keep me guessing when the guitar is going to come in, and probably intentionally so.