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lyrics
It was the golden age, the great war afterglow, a consecrated place in time where people dreamt in chiaroscuro.
Museum of mask, haunted by the jet black crow, cause of death: suicide by Valentino.
You were a viking's child, troubled by a dream of snow, you plunged the world in deepest ecstasy, held captive by the face of Garbo.
A puppeteer, marionette of time, made to dance and bend to the silver will of this machine, machine, machine of mine.
Standing before your white chalk lines, the world changes from day to night and the door opens to the brain of Einstein.
A poisoned fame, a letter through the post, a sealed envelope and an ink-black dagger through the centre of the ghost.
You had the golden voice, the black hand on your throat, they placed the price of peace too high, drowned out by the soaring voice of Caruso.
credits
released March 20, 2020
Recorded, mixed and mastered by Carl Small
The Brooklyn band deliver a blissful psychedelic rock album steeped in sci-fi and spirituality, awash with organs, strings, and reverb. Bandcamp New & Notable Jun 23, 2021
Big, clanging psych-rock from this Arizona outfit fuses monk-like vocals with slow-winding guitars for songs that feel like strange hymns. Bandcamp New & Notable May 2, 2016