Seven that Spells (feat. Makoto Kawabata)
This Croatian powerrock group got assistance from Makoto Kawabata (Acid Mothers Temple,…). The now very much psychedelic music sounds like going first towards a sonic overload, pushed by someone who wants to lead like Yahowa 13 but is as crazy as hell (he’s a man from Distopia, so it has been conceptualized). It does not end with one track. Somehow there’s a peyote/mescaline-Indian be-the-fire-dance, ritualistic communal drive in the monotone rhythmic pulsations/or “melody”. Then, within this sonic vacuum cleaner you can start to hear an electric sitar flipping on the dance. I could almost sing along with “heho-haho”, mantra-wise, with the spiralling focus. Heavenly female vocalists (-preferably nude, for the sake of the concept-) then starts to sing along on the background. By the third track a freaking wild electric guitar improvises on top of all that, and the band goes weird with it with more sonic spacey effects, and more bass-with-drum drive, taking off. This wild guitar continues for a while and manages to “wow” me the whole way through, holding my breath and attention and then looking for breath again, more than once. Then wordy-like pushes starts all over to lead again the dance, with the whole band behind them like a living draconic energy. The sonic mass begins to roar with moving-in-the-air cosmic fluting overtones as a new entity. This seems to bring the band down to a first closing part. The band then transforms into a kind of sequenced sonic washing machine loop, with the beautiful sounds of overtones following them, and with wild high toned guitars dissolved into the turmoil of sounds. But thoroughly the guitar finds some individual shape in the heavy brooding monster, and from inside, or from the bottom it starts to feed it trying to make it move. Instead the energy fades out a bit, in the next track. In a Nurse With Wound feeling of overtones, the psychedelic guitars fades away like directed lava, with some electricity. Distant voices cry from hell deeper down the trail, not for help, but to participate in the firey bliss. Then from underneath the rhythmical foot tapping dance rhythms and communal vocals appears one last time from a distance, not with an extra sitar this time but with a hurdy gurdy to it, while the fluting sounds dominate the psychedelic underground. Cymbal echoing effects subtly fly around it. The music fades out and the communal vocals keeps the tension high (with hurdy gurdy), while the rest of the sounds drones away.
