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LIVERPOOL INTERNATIONALFESTIVAL OF PSYCHEDELIA @ CAMP& FURNACE 29/09/12 REVIEW BYCHUMKI BANERJEE

HARD COREHALLUCINOGENS,PSYCHEDELIACOMES OF AGE,SCORPIO RISINGON AQUARIUSMOON.

Psychedelicmusic: ‘A style ofmusic that isinspired orinfluenced bypsychedelicculture andattempts toreplicate andenhance the mindalteringexperiences ofpsychedelic drugs.It often uses newrecordingtechniques andeffects and drawson non-Westernsources such asragas and dronesof Indian music’

However, as we know, music is beyond definition andcategorical constraints, which is why I tend not to read aboutbands before listening to their music, each is uniquely theirown and I like to hear them fresh, without incipient influence.Perhaps in this case, I should also not have listened to soundbites prior to the event, as they hung expectation on panoply ofparticular musical hooks, which live, clattered to the floor inconfusion, shedding multicoloured coats. More homogeneousthan expected, the criteria for selecting bands, apart fromsheer musicality, probably reflected particular psychedelicpeccadillo of promoters, Harvest Sun and Bido Lito, favourite

◦ Rowetta◦ Bink: Pearls &

Swine◦ Mick Middles◦ John Maher◦ Carol Hodge◦ Louise Distras◦ Kris Needs◦ Exene Cervenka

of X◦ Nina Antonia &

Jerome Alexandre◦ Jonny Cola & The

A Grades◦ P.P Arnold◦ The Rubys◦ Glen Matlock◦ Chris Hewitt◦ Mark Laff◦ Chris Helme◦ Lost Prophets◦ Blind Atlas

Archive:◦ All interviews

2011◦ All interviews

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2009◦ All interviews

2008

SHOWS

All shows 2012

Most recent:◦ Liverpool

Psycadelia Fest◦ Beth Jeans

Houghton◦ Sam Forrest◦ Rae Morris◦ Cheap Cuts

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colours picked from its palette, rather than reflective of wholefantastical spectrum. Though the event was beautifullyorganised and flowed like water, it lacked ebb and flow ofvariety, the play on emotion which an inspiring Dj arouses,irresistibly evokes, when selecting a set. However, still a trulyrevelatory night; which had me wondering why my subconscience had left psychedelia ‘Zombified’ in the Sixties,Liverpool’s first International Psychedelic Festival flew mehigher than Jefferson Airplane, flinging open doors ofperception, hurling me out without parachute, its drug, passionfor music, pervading every pore, its message permeating mycore, suffused in fog of dry ice, reality suspended inpsychotropic mists for one remarkable night, proving thatthough psychedelia has moved on, it still has the power to exertan extraordinary hallucinatory high.

Whilst it is true,when LSD wasmade illegal in1966, openacknowledgementand expression ofcreative inspirationencouraged byhallucinogenicstimulation ofcerebral cortex,may have beencurtailed, there isno doubt its effectslingered long,rainbow raysrefracted intoremarkable newmusical genresfrom Bowie toBolan to Banshee,flying high on acidfuelled whimsy,Floyd and Rush inmeditative reverie,migrating toharder substances,

dredging dangerous depths in Velvet Undergrounds, innersanctums plundered , Doors prising open Pandora’s box.

Being a fan of electronica, past and present, I should haverecognised new era of psychedelia arising from the mists, inform of electronic dance music, its new acid wings MDMA,

◦ The Cult/TheMission

◦ RochdaleFeelgood Festival

◦ Charlie Harper◦ Boomtown Fair

Festival◦ Rebellion Festival◦ JP Cooper◦ Cambridge Folk

Festival◦ Morrissey◦ The International

Swingers◦ Warrington Music

Festival 2012◦ Little Sparrow◦ No Ceremony◦ Roxette◦ Garbage◦ The Psychedelic

Furs◦ Pearl Jam◦ Guillemots◦ The Rezillos◦ Dot To Dot

Festival◦ Buzzcocks: Back

To Front◦ The Chapman

Family◦ Nice & Sleazy

Festival◦ The Charlatans◦ Sandy Denny

Homage◦ The Rubys◦ Stone Roses -

Warrington◦ Liverpool Sound

City◦ Morten Harket◦ Happy Mondays◦ Chris Helme◦ LostProphets

Archive shows:

◦ All shows 2011◦ All shows 2010◦ All shows 2009◦ All shows 2008

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more ordered yet still euphorically enlightening serotonin high;a musical movement which ripped out my heart and held itpulsing. Looking back, the clues that betrayed its roots werecrystal clear, Acid House, Acid Trance, Acid Techno, like itsforerunner mutating into myriad musical movements,intoxicating rapture freewheeling, spiralling, drilling Hardcoreto Darkcore deep into the psyche. And now a Scorpio moonrises on the Age of Aquarius, to forge another new psychedelia,molten maelstrom of hedonistic highs, transfused with headycocktail, chemically concocted, intensely infused with potentintoxicants, surreal silver bullet, spinning out shimmer ofsixties silk thread, blazing its own incandescent meteor trail,shot with shards of its distant past, feeding its craving withmodern means, showcased tonight.

Like the drugs,concocted fromincreasinglycomplexconstituents,electronica hasevolved its ability toinduce mindaltering states ofbeing, preciselytarget sentientmanipulation. NowEastern mysticismcomes in a box,buzzing electronsintone its ragas anddrones and ‘60’satmosphere iscaptured inelectronic circuits,as witnessed byproliferation ofRaagini DigitalElectronic Tanpura,Ravish Sitar pedalsset to ‘exotic’, andVintage Distortion

pedals on dedicated sustain, liberally littered, scattering thestage, loftily observed by omnipresent Orange OR50 amp,pushed to maximum gain, radiating its vintage vibe. True to itsroots, Psychedelia still seeks to embrace and exploit newtechnology, explore to destruction mind bending effects, solidstate usurped by ‘higher state’ of digital consciousness, everywhim programmed on spaceship console but ,aficionados still

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Film launch:◦ What Shall We Do

With the DrunkenSailor

◦ Enter The Void◦ A-ha Film

screeningPerformance:◦ Coronation Street

1968◦ Camille O'

Sullivan◦ Lili La Scala◦ The Big Smoke

play◦ Biffy Clyro event◦ The Frank &

Marilyn Show◦ Mo*niques

Launch Night,Burlesque Show

◦ TheVaudevillains

◦ The MartiniLounge BurlesqueShow

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aspire to recreate those original Theremin, low pass filtertones. Psychedelia may have traversed universes of panning,phasing, wah-wahs and time warps, been shaken asunder byextreme reverb, but that oscillator sweep, 24Db per octavefilter slope, reverential resonance, redolent of home, signaturearpeggio of psych, still shivers the soul of nearly every bandhere, even when hushed homage, just as the Larsen effect stilllooms large, feeding the loop, ethereal throwback, unitingbond.

So, I come to the actual show, though not noticeably primpedfor psychedelic party; except for colourful wall of psychoBuddha poster art, the venue itself exudes its own suffusing ,surreal glow, while clad in own clothes; recreation of an airypiazza complete with silver birch, olive trees, stage set floatingfacade and the odd caravan on fire, its statuesque proportionsdwarfing mere mortals to Alice, after a drink, proportions Myprevious encounter was its alter ego, the A-Foundation artspace, where I shivered in draughty chills of its unheatedhangar space, scantily clad, holding a card aloft for three hours,as part of a living art installation, commentating on communistcontrol. Rather appropriately, now converted to epitome of antiestablishment, controlled by the people, for the peopleperformance space, radically radiating warmth, in form ofecologically ethical wood fired heat, Camp and Furnace hasdefinitively dispelled previous Gulag grim, though its concretefloor is still ruinous to feet.

◦ The Rape OfLucrece

◦ Meeting JoeStrummer play

Events:◦ CALM event◦ Jim Morrison's

40th Anniversaryin Paris

◦ Word Fest: KevinCummins

◦ Brighton RecordFair

◦ It's Queer UpNorth

◦ An Audience withNick Cave

◦ 1940's weekend2009

Investigating:◦ Carsons: Music

Venue◦ Eric's: A New Era◦ Victorian Baths -

Manchester

Exhibitions:

◦ Origional PunkPosters

◦ Andy WarholExhibition

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On arrival, mid afternoon, unusually for start of a thirteen hourmusical marathon, the place is pleasantly pulsating, withenigmatically beautiful, charming, voluble people, lighthearted, appreciative, sartorially elegant, individuallyaccoutred, though only intermittently adhering to the theme. Afew spectral, half hearted Gobos roam faces and floors, but incompetition with sun filtering through corrugated plasticskylight and dry ice haze, belching as befits The Furnace, theyare but whispers of melancholy, forgotten ghosts, no match fornature’s own lighting system which lends the room a surrealist,watery, but less than psychedelic, backdrop for the first band.

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The ShookUps, are 6raucous men inPatrickMcGoohanblack, darklydebonair,singer sportingall shook upElvis hair, setthe scene forshaking mypsychedelicfoundations.Superchargingsixties craftwith new wavepunk fuel,modulatedthroughtwiddledtantrum ofgeek speak,mad scientistknobs, call ofCoyote vocaldisarms

brooding bass menace, ominously mono gloved, left handedantithesis of Lex Luther metamorphosing new flowers frompsychedelic ashes and bone. True, chirpy attitude of sunblushed room, an entreaty to move forward so “...we can justabout touch cocks...”which prompted shy shrinkage, ratherthan engorged swell, and a drummer with remarkableresemblance to Eddie Izzard, somewhat softened rumble ofgrumbling thunder undertow which, I am sure, would ragefiercely in more salubrious surroundings, The Shook Ups stillmanage to rattle these walls, an auspicious start.

Anticipation swelling with agitated nostrils, inhalingincreasingly billowing carbon dioxide frozen fumes, Mel and Iexit Furnace to navigate an Alice In Wonderland ‘rat run’ of acorridor, before concertinaing up amongst quite a crowd, in thesecond Blade Factory room, as low as Furnace is lofty, wherethe ‘Wild Eyes’ are barely visible through low lying cloudslending new meaning to Camera Obscura, and smoke gets inyour eyes tears. Again bristling with attitude, ‘Wild Eyes’ is anappropriate name for this band, sounding like garage punkversion of Wild Thing Troggs, a new psycho punk; Velvet’s feralcry issued impassioned from wide eyed vocalist, fragilely

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friable, highly strung, tensile frame twisted, tortured as if inpain, building Munch scream, bass deep throb of boiling blood,drummer and keyboard entranced in hypnotic sway, filteredthrough distorted haze of echo; melodic yet potent, entrancing,one of my favourite bands of the night. Sadly astral videobackdrop does not match band’s intensity, washed out and wan.

Returning to The Furnace, still bathed in uncharacteristic sun,‘Roscoe (Spacemen 3) turns out to be one man and his purpleguitar, controls set throbbing to centre of the sun, his onlycompanion discarded guitar case, pulsating with blue astralglow, chagrin gathering moody, sinister clouds, drawling, gothicNick Cave, needling guitar prickling spine. Apart from solospaceman, this sets pattern for the night, bands allocated 30minute slots, some passing faster than others and, of the oneswe heard, all featuring fascinating selection of sex on legselectric guitars, bass, drums, keyboard and effects, vocals notalways necessary. The sound in both rooms well balanced buterring, at times, towards muffling, mind numbing volume ratherthan well defined clarity. At this point, temporarily musicallysated, sustenance was sought from small but beguiling menu,chalked next to image of ‘love and peace man’ flower powerspaceman, who somehow summarised spirit of the night, in oneendearing drawing. Magic mushroom soup considered ahallucinogenic step too far, we plumped for less potent deadhippie, succulent but slightly stringy, any hint of marijuanamarinade masked by mustard relish and patchouli smoke.

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So we returned to the fray, fragrantly resinous, dancing withdead man’s meat in our teeth, as well as tears in our eyes, to awarp in space/time; ‘Altered Hours’ playing where pocketprogrammed billed ‘Lucid Dream’, an ironic error causingmomentary confusion. With an overwhelming preponderance ofmale artistes, ‘Altered Hours’ immediately stood out fromcrowd by virtue of its female drummer and front lady, withtouch of Cranberries/Patti Smith/ Siouxsie perforated vocal,crack of whip turning to torrid tribal drums, sinister drawlingbass and Nick Cave/Byrne , spitting, shrieked, punctuated malevocal, stridently strummed guitars, punctured with warbledeffects, washed in distortion, this is dark gothic New Yorkflavoured punk, ranting, roaring maelstrom.

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Such vehemence finding me reeling, welcomed warm balmspun by Dj, Tom Clarke, who, thus far, had provided a stunningset of intriguing psychedelic remixes, including Leo Zero’sversion of ‘Moonage Daydream’ and now soothed brows andjangled nerves with 5D’s Time and Space reworking of‘California Dreamin’’. His choices in particular impressed me,captivating and arousing my curiosity, though all Djs wereimpressive in providing a seamless, entirely engaging andinventive soundscape, linking bands.

Tumultuous tantrum was resumed with ‘Lucid Dream’,riotously restored to their allotted slot in space/time continuum,

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pouring hell’s fire of molten sound on unsuspecting heads.Belying their boy next door looks, more psycho than psych,twisting tornado, torrid, deeply despondent, drowned inNirvana angst, lashing rain would have suited its torrent butstill the sun perversely shone. One of the stars of the show forme, brain probing pneumatic drill, plexus punch sliding intosleaze, storm of savage, swirling sound, striated with soaringspaceship effects, magnetised by bass, utterly mesmerising.

‘Ancient River’, aptly heralded by mystic drone of a Dj track,singer enigmatically framed by sunlit open door, dark shadesand tousled rampant locks redolent of Morrison, eyes blackholes, coolly, nonchalantly flows , takes the floor, to drugged updrubbing beat, sleazy drawling growl subsumed in wall ofsound distortion, wafted with heady analogue synth breeze.Unrelentingly doom laden, hypnotised sway, laconic lizard lostin dark inner space, hazed, slipping down the snake, psychoticpsychedelic, picking up brighter bluesy note, as sun sets ingolden glow, sinking into despondent doldrums as dusk dawnsand we squeeze ourselves back into The Blade Factory for‘Helicon’.

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Eagerly anticipated, ‘Helicon’ live were not as expected, soundsettings taking an age to perfect left the band looking like theydidn’t really want to be there, performing what sounded like animprovised psycho jam, sideways knowing looks excluding theaudience, at times. Despite that, they ravaged the room withreverb and their powerful, six piece, butter wouldn’t meltsleekly coiffed ice maiden amongst unkempt shaggy sheep,wailing wall of New Order twisted sound, harmoniousdiscordance deviating from the norm, military cut and thrustinfiltrated by reticent but pervading, resonant whirr of birdlikebeating wings synth , repeated riffs mesmeric, bass irresistiblemagnetising, mimicking low frequency electromagnetic waves,enthralled, entranced, in another zone, crouches comatose onfloor consumed by the beat, while all seeing video eye looks on;gristle and throb psych with a powerful grip, gloriously heavyand deep.

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Plunged into indigovelvet night, thevenue comesspectacularly tolife, shaking outsparkling ballgown of fairytalelight, painting usall in luminouspurple and blue, ashowling with thesilver moon, ‘WolfPeople’ swaggeron to the stage,their dark, folksyedge, grungyguitars and touchof Led Zep, spunwith mine sweepsynth and mysticalmagic, riffled withfunky riffs,Progressive Psych,Fairport on acid,hard rock rampantsprites cavorting inthe moonlight;

another one of my favourite bands from the night.

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Violet vortex swirlsto coalesce intonext act, ‘PalmaViolets’, melodiccore deceptivelysweet yet potent astheir fragrantname, smellingsalts reviving evenfaintest of hearts,rock in dolefuldoldrums, artfullysullied by garagegrime, sparkedwith post punk fire,touched byBunnymen bittersweet, subtlyspiked with JoyDivision anguish,dancing withomnipresent devilin the dark, Cave;arousing enough toinspire toplessstreak, bared

breasts not breaking their stride. More than a flash in the pan,highly musical, ‘Palma Violets’ tunes lilt and flow, injected withimpassioned yet easily accessible hormonal angst, perhaps oneof the most commercial bands of the night, smells like teenspirit psych.

On cue, heralded by twisted hurdy gurdy, another Bunnymanemerges from gloom, spot lit on high, sinister, white glovedbunny in suit, more rabble rousing, rebellious Orwellianallegorical hare than Alice’s dithering white rabbit, modern dayanti establishment, cynical surrealism, mind control echo“...are you living the dream?...”

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A malign echomugged, re-appropriated by‘Mugstar’, gothicmetal, ominoussub-light craftwarping todarkest,destructive cornersof universe andbrain, dredgingdespondency.Here at last, thevideo backdropsprings to life,chaoticproliferation ofcells mimickingderanged,disordered mind,multi winged newmessiah, hopetaking flight. Themusicianship of‘Mugstar’ isexemplary, guitarvirtuosic, drumsrelentlessly

dramatic, synth centre stage extraordinarily expressive andarticulate; lost in maelstrom mind, tortured, tormented,

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introspective, mesmeric death star progressive, relentlessrampage, tightly reined and controlled. ‘Mugstar’ are mastersof palpable menace and easily the most accomplished musiciansof the night, holding now heaving crowd in their thrall, stunned,in unified , mesmerised sway; Mind Mug Apocalyptic Psych.Harbingers of doom inspiring reappearance of Queen of Heartsherald in form of apocalyptic, anti Stalinist, fire brand bunnyespousing democracy: “... you the people have the power...fightfor a new world ...unite...”

Only the ‘DeadSkeletons’ couldhave followed that,pumped andprimed, audiencepulsating, we hadto wait a while for,shamanistic ritesto be completed,stage set, for mostdramatic act of thenight. Hailing fromIceland, ‘DeadSkeletons’ radiatedNordic folkloricmysticism, rattlingtheir runic bonesfrom the momentthey stepped onstage; sharplyangled, grimreaper face of frontman, irresistiblycaptivating in itsstark, sharplyangled beauty,elaborately

tattooed arms enthralling hieroglyphics, hat be-feathered,occult medicine man rummaging in scuffed black box of magic,its lid luminescent, talking head skull of the living dead; stageright, upswept, up-lit angel, intensely focused, as if in deepmeditation; stage left Kurt Cobain brought back to life. Turningmedicine wheel, ritual begins; incense sticks are lit, V signs ofpeace; living art conjuring performance art, scrawlingscreaming scull, weeping black blood; singing bowl is struck ,its resonant ring calling ancient spirits to feather path, inmesmeric musical mantra torrid tone upon tone, incantationsintoned, dancing with ghosts, travelling deep into torment, darknight of the soul. Piling driving tribal drums, bass blood boil

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throb, guitar subsumed in hell fire shriek, synth scintillatingmenace, magnetic power of doom laden undertow crashingwaves of panic, focus tornado, hypnotise mind to numbingtrance.

The power of this group is extraordinary; at one point the coreof its universe imploded, in magic box disintegration; thoughglowering in gloom, somehow purifying, healing chant ofspiritual life; Joy Division and Doors in satanic cult forging anew religion, Shaman Psych, a revelation. Leaving lingeringsmell of burning flesh and singed hair, I must admit, at thispoint, my brain went up in smoke, wanting to curl up withcomatose crush on fireside sofa, so rest of the night is bit of ablur.

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‘Hookworms’whipping feedback,exciting electronsto maelstrom offrantic frenzy,synth on full minesweep, spectral toDevil’s shriek,disintegratingsanity, feels like anout of bodyexperience,especially whenthey get caught upin voodoo vortexleft carelesslyswirling on thestage by ‘DeadSkeletons, andkeyboard standsuffers calamitouscollapse;traumatisingtantrum, withtantalising Kinky,‘You Really Got

Me’, rock and roll heartbeat; white noise, white heat,possessed psych.

Catching last whisperings of ‘Cult Of Dom Kellar’, in theBlade Factory, spaced out, striated synth, magnetising, hypnoticelectronica, drums deep drone, vocal mystic chant, sombre,sinister serenade sounding a different psychedelic tone to therest of the night, Sinister Synth Psych, one I will seek again,sorry to have missed the rest of his set.

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Ears now definitively ringing, staggering back to The Furnace,it is the witching hour and ‘Plank!’ are playing , definitely notplank like, so perhaps the exclamation marks irony. LikeMugstar, musical wizards, experimental with jazzy, folk edge,funky bass and retro synth, their clear simplicity and touch ofRush, is somewhat a relief after ear annihilation.

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As a pig jumps onstage and pull offits face I fear thisneeds to be theend of my night, so‘Time and SpaceMachine’ finds mehankering for oneto fly me to my bedbut, as lava lamp,coloured oil onwater gel, spillspsychedelicrainbow spectrumlike multicolouredbalm, and sensualblue Gretsch,branded with StPiran’s Cornishcrest, is cradled inguitarists arms, myintrigue is onceagain aroused,senses soothed bythat certain synthsweep, psychshimmer, ‘crystalrain’ casting ‘black

rainbows’ on the Mersey. Returning to roots in Sixties mysticalswing, driven by metal beat, phasers “set to stun”, sprinkledwith hallucinogenic fairy dust.

As I depart into that dark night, ringing in my ears is ‘...twilightgives me power... it’s the magic hour...’fitting , end to a magicalnight.

It seems that the ‘Time of the Season’ has moved on, ‘WhiteRabbit’ burrowed out of its fantasy world; no longer patchouliand pills, this is altogether harder psychedelia, forged from ourtimes, high on the drug of real life and a very welcomeeducation for me.

Thanks to Harvest Sun and Bido Lito for putting on a trulywonderful event, here's to next year.

Review by Chumki Banerjee [plus photo of The ShookUps]Photos by Melanie Smith – www.mudkissphotography.co.uk[Full set will be added here when completed]

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