The Smoke and Mirrors of Birds of Maya

I'll happily sign on to anything described as "a G.G. Allin demo played through a megaphone" or "the heaviest album to ever come out of Philadelphia," two claims made by Birds of Maya, the latest band to be added to an increasingly eclectic Holy Mountain roster.

My bro took one listen and declared that he hates the blooze -- honestly though, who doesn't if you don't got 'em? This is deconstruction blues, a kind of revisionist celebration, scraping any regard to fidelity and recording the whole shebang in one blurry take. I'd hate to see the room after the smoke had cleared from this session. Vol. 1 is an album for weekend binges, caked in the resin of choogling guitars , screech and static. I went on to remind my brother that he had a few Groundhogs records in his collection and that Tony McPhee lived by the gospel of blues, he just distorted it in lengthy jams, ratcheted up the psych, and set the world free (please investigate).

Vol. 1 possesses many of the same qualities as the groundbreaking (no pun intended) Split LP, I wouldn't be at all surprised to find a cover of "Cherry Red" somewhere in their repertoire. These are guys that ape blues riffs as a necessity, the same way label-mates Wooden Shjips ape kraut riffs. These are guys that appreciate Danzig and Thin Lizzy, doods that have shared stages with Blue Cheer, Bardo Pond, LSD March as a gesture of thanks and devotion. Put down your guard and let it all settle in, five minutes into "Ancient Withes Rise" and you'll see what I'm oggling -- plenty of abstract pathways marched upon, plenty of buzzy creaks and cracks, a toxic miasma of black and white.

For those looking for the polar opposite to the cleaner, yawn inducing, misstep of Dead Meadow's latest Old Growth or the indulgent sputtering of Black Mountain's In the Future, this may just be your salvation. Nothing fancy, nothing unique, simply proto-metal blooze psych done exactly right.