Comets On Fire - Field Recordings From The Sun
If ever there was an album that physically attacks you, picks you up and throws you towards the tail-end of the sixties; towards a field near Woodstock on a Monday morning where you feel the drugs, the rising sunshine and the full-on rock of Hendrix, then Comets On Fire’s Field Recordings From The Sun is ruthlessly that album. With only five tracks on offer, you’d assume this was some sort of demo EP complete with rambling, improvisational guitar power-chords without a trace of melodious accompaniment, and yet lasting at thirty-five minutes and packing with it a relentless drive from the get-go, Comets On Fire will arrest any listener with their revisionist attack on anything with a psychedelic hint.
Habiting in Santa Cruz, a place currently associate with the deckchair and cigarette icon-styling of faux-LA band The Thrills, Comets On Fire throw in everything from Mitch Mitchell drumming to the prog-rock of King Crimson along with the old-style Sabbath or even Crazy World Of Arthur Brown (without the radio-appeal at least). Apocalyptic and cerebrally weakening, it’s fair to say that you either belong in the target market for Field Recordings From The Sun. Two minutes listening to the Santana-style opening of Beneath The Ice Age will be enough to keep you listening for the rest of the album or to turn it off completely. Structurally, it’s slightly lacking, but then the band would often turn up at the studio with only basic riff-patterns laid down as blueprints anyway, so one can forgive the slightly organic nature of the record. Even so, the music is often so violent to the ear that you are too frightened to shy away from it, and if you reach the end, you’ll be glad you didn’t.