THE CULT OF DOM KELLER : Beyond Burning Skies

The gates of upper perception have opened up above Nottingham, in a vast space hole made of fire, lust, chaos and madness.

Fallen angels will sing and trick you while you step into that larger than life dimension, somewhere between heaven and hell, in the heart of psychotropia.

Deep down the fire hole emerges the space whale that will eat you alive. You thought you knew all about fuzz? Wait until you’ve heard those lads’ gripping guitar sound.

Visually enlightening and mentally arousing, The Cult Of Dom Keller’s adrenalizing aura is thought-provoking and evocative of sixties spirit and fiction.

You would have a particularly picturesque journey driving across the US of A while listening to these guys.

Once you fall into the triangle, things will never be the same. Rich in hallucinogenic sounds, Dom Keller is able to bring an edge to contemporary psychedelic rock, delivering sounds that are tremendously high in color and are just as fabulously electrifying, making music that is genuinely old school and all theirs at the same time.

If your soul and body don’t pulsate to their flamboyant beat, you might as well be dead!

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MySpace

Beaufort County n° 4

Beaufort County, photographer unknown.

And with all that we hide,we forget to feel free, like those warm embraces that never took place, we'll use again the masks we learnt to hate, and with all that we tell, we lie about the important dreams, since everything is lost and found, there's no bigger deal than hiding under the sun.

You'll always get burnt, baby.
Now times' been stopped, and everything's unclear, the siluettes are fading, the memories hold still, now all their eyes are silent, 'cause there's no love to breath, the last words were unspoken, the dreamer never believed.

I'm holding tight now.
Holding tight to the ground.

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Springlizard

THE MEEK

Photo by Jeff Forney

Ironically named, The Meek seems to be hailing straight from hell with its evil and nefarious soundscapes.
“You” perfectly epitomizes the quartet’s compulsive aura and its trademark wall of sound with hallucinogenic distortions. The Californians’ sound is compelling : oppressive and yet surprisingly feminine with Amy Lee’s sultry and mesmerizing vocals, the four-piece thus builds a sonic cathedral of evil reverb and striking fuzzy guitars and brings out a chiaroscuro of emotions, a blazing inferno that casts dark spells and arouses you with its raw, droning and haunting visuals.
While the band seems to be caught in a cave, its ethereal highlights foresee a guiding light that keeps you wandering in an astounding maze, a fever dream that will blow you away over and over again…
Have The Meek crossed Arthur Rimbaud’s path somewhere along the ride? This could have been the poison he mentioned in “Night In Hell” from A Season In Hell:
“I have just swallowed a terrific mouthful of poison. - Blessed, blessed, blessed the advice I was given! - My guts are on fire.”
Get a taste of that exquisite poison, The Meek is calling you!

The Meek on MySpace

THE NORTH COUNTRY

photo by unknown artist

When you find yourself at the crossroads of Joy and Division, you instantly think about Ian Curtis but if you look at the sky at dusk right there, you may hear that howlin’ wind Uncle Bob sang about.
“If you’re going to the north country fair , where the winds hit heavy on the borderline, remember me to one who lives there, she once was a true love of mine…”

There are no directions home and you must let your free will pick between brightness, which is comfort and convenience and darkness that stands for challenge and adventure.
The Secret Machines’ atmospheric sounds will guide you through this unwritten path, surrounding you with a dreamlike haze, you’ll be no longer looking for that former love of yours but this poetic landscape will bring out lots of memories and will take you to a magical land that will keep reverberating in your mind.

How much is one split second, that is how long it will take you to make a decision between joy and division, going to affect your journey while you are at the border of the north country?
Would you rather indulge in melancholy or experience to the full? Let the howlin' wind carry you away…

PINK FLOYD AT UFO

1966, most psychedelic year ever, in the heart of swinging London, the UFO crowd is most likely unaware that they are a part of musical and cultural history, losing their grip on reality in these ultimate underground headquarters.
As the Floyd starts playing arpeggios, people get carried away, whirling to colorful, lysergic and cathartic vibes, getting either dizzy or wild under the influence of alcohol and all kinds of drugs, their bodies get sweaty and pulsate to intense dissonant sounds and to a growing wall of sound, visions get blurry and double outlines reflect all around.
Where the heck is Syd? Is that Roger?
Lush riffs get under people’s skins while psychotropic light effects wrap their senses, until music gets larger than life, an omnipotent dimension where supreme rhythm rules and takes people to a higher ground, where music is the meaning of everything and where time and place tend to disappear.
The crowd is just faced with raw emotion, electrifying sensations and soundgasms, people’s spirits wander in reptilia while distortions reach their climax, instincts surrender and bodies and minds are split off, time is on hold all the way through when people go to orbit.
Cosmic, chemical, organic, outrageous and mindblowing at once, that’s what is called an experience…

SINGAPORE SLING's Roadkiller

Photo by Neil Krug.

You can see her driving her patched up car on the highway, broken, rusty; it has been thru many nights without sleep and many days under a too hot sun.
Drugs.
Beer.
Some occasional sex, trying to save what’s left of her soul without succeeding. You name it.
She’s not running away from anything.
She’s running after someone with the concentration that only pain can give.
The dense, dark, deep and heavy sound of Roadkill by Singapore Sling with the electrifying guitar running wild at the very first note of the song gives us that, and so much more.
A crime, about to be committed, premeditated; one that will be enjoyed and it’ll taste like victory.
A victory she has been waiting for far too long.
She’s waiting, outside some dirty old whore house in the middle of nowhere, patiently, lighting the last cigarette of the day, or so she says.
It has hints of western mixed with some justice, and a little of pure insanity.
There’s no fear in the song, there’s no fear in the photo, but there’s certainly a heart broken, some maddening rage, an aching mind and a poor bastard that will pay for it.
Gets out of the car, and with a decided walk she reaches for the door, a chilly mist of smoke and disgusting smell comes up on her face, she doesn’t care, the sense of smell has been long lost, there’s only thirst now.
As if guessing what will come to pass, the junkie employee working there moves from her way as she opens every single one of the one floor whore house doors. The last one has to be it; of course it had to be the last she thinks.
One simple, even soundless shot in the head.
She walks away thinking about the combination of red and white sheets.