Electric Smokehouse – Release January 11th, 2017
Headspin Records & Pepper Shaker Records – Vinyl / CD / DD
You awaken from your artificial sleep, roused by the pulsings and rumblings within your starship’s harmonic hull. Taking the helm, you notice you’ve just exited the wormhole, and you’re approaching your ultimate destination. You’ve traveled both time and space to experience this place, said to be unlike any other in the known universe. The light of this foreign galaxy burns the last semblance of slumber from your eyes. You slowly see the first light glisten and sparkle off it for the first time, the Frozen Planet….1969.
You’ve brought no crew – this is a solo trip. You alone can see the stars shimmer off the planet’s icy ionosphere, you alone will hear the starship sing as its encounters the gaseous upper atmosphere. You alone will feel the heat of the ship’s hull as it dares its delicate descent towards the frozen field below. Slamming on the retro thrusters, you carefully calculate the angle of entry and brac for landing. The impact is minimal, and you quickly gather up your supplies and lower the stairs towards the icy ground below. Bracing yourself for the frigid cold and chill winds, you grab a fur-lined overcoat and pull the hood over your long hair. The oxygen is rich here, though it will become thinner as you climb the frost covered mountains towards the ominous Electric Smokehouse.
You wander past a frozen lake, and see Barbarella’s starship, desperately in need of repairs. You know that she’s about to be attacked by a gang of children bearing dolls with snapping metal teeth, and if you were to take the time to simply rescue her, you could make sweet, sweet love to her on a featherbed inside a giant sled propelled by a sail. Alas, you also know that there’s no time for such diversions, and another will be along shortly to ensure her safety. Your pace quickens, and you begin the steep ascent up the sacred mountain, on top of which lies the Electric Smokehouse, an elusive place chock full of sonic daydreams and mystical soundscapes. As you climb, placing hand over hand and foot over foot, you gaze up in wonder at the small shack resting stoically at the top of the mountain. It approaches faster and faster, and soon you catch the first wisps of rhythm echoing from within the smokehouse’s wooden walls. Soon the frantic pounding of the drums is joined by the throbbing undulation of bass guitar deeply digging into a hypnotic groove. The higher the climb, the more apparent it becomes that the strange noises your heard in the background are from a single six string guitar which speaks in sonic tongues, repeating what seem like mind-warping mantras over and over in some strange electric language that penetrates straight into the inner depths of your psyche.
Finally reaching the summit, you set off down the path towards the small smokehouse, taking in the sights of the planet’s three suns reflecting off the snowy peaks and frozen valleys. The music from within continues to intensify as you open the front door. You’re greeted by three men, who introduce themselves simply as Paul on guitar, Lachian on bass, and Frank on drums. They speak to you without missing a beat or even a single note, and somehow their soft voices are briefly projected above the heavy jams emanating from their instruments. The guitar seamlessly shifts from searing leads to heavy riffs, shimmering chords to strange echoed oscillations. The bass works the groove, while every once in awhile adding in a slice of melody or jammy leads, and the drums alternate between busy rhythms and stoic understatement. Your ears are treated to all manner of otherwordly sounds as the trio jams on endlessly, for what seems like hours, days even week. All too soon, your supplies are deplete and it’s time to make the long return trek to your planet of origin.
As you head back to your spacecraft, you can’t help but think that fans of Earthless may also find a trip to the Frozen Planet….1969 to be quite a worthwhile venture. You climb back aboard your ship, engage the autopilot, open up a fresh wormhole and prepare to enter your cryogenic sleep, with all heavy jams you’ve just taken in still bouncing around in your cerebellum. You smile as the gentle psychedelic slumber overtakes you, and you ponder what new grand adventure will await you when you awaken….
By Andy “Dingo Ate My Baby” Beresky