It’s a bit in thrall with Mr Fantasy era Traffic, or early Soft Machine for that matter (that hint of parlour room psych-jazz), but it’s too fucking raga.
A nice EP this, brim-full of attitude, atmosphere and determination. The EP is held together by these three things more than anything remarkable about the songs: though the tracks are appealing enough, make no doubt about that.
The title track kicks us off with a take on that hurried Friday on My Mind riff, something that soon turns out to underpin something a lot less poppy than any standard 60’s worship. Soon, with the aid of some sneering vox, we get a nice clattering, waspish guitar sound slithering over a rumbling bass. Add the purposeful tread of the drums and the overall air of menace and what you get is a very cool bit of music. 1 & 9 starts as a dreamy soliloquy - with only a soft tom, hi hat and a lightly strummed guitar for company. A scraping, raggedy guitar effect comes in about two thirds of the way through to add tone but then the pastoral strumming returns to make everything that little bit Tamworth-era Cope.
Last up is the drone-out of Maybe!, which sits in a sonic puddle of its own making for a good minute before starting to make a mantra of sorts. It’s a bit in thrall with Mr Fantasy era Traffic, (check out the Chris Wood-style flute coda) or early Soft Machine for that matter (that hint of parlour room psych-jazz), but it’s too fucking raga.
Super, smashing, great!