It sometimes feels like you can’t move for bands/groups divining/refining inspiration from the lysergic “codified” 1960s, Lenny Kaye’s “seminal” Nuggets’ influence growing trendier, groovier and cooler by the second. So, it’s extra special when a band exists that respect a script (the archived historical past/passed) but are also able to adlib, go rogue and off-the-cuff. Wooden Shjips are THAT band.
On deck, Shjip mates: The Teutonic sounding, sonic-phonic quintet Ulrika Spacek, (s)pace-setting, mood-getting, full-on psyche-drone-zone-warfare. These ain’t no Sissies, Carrie-ing on…
Shjipping News: This space-rocking-choogling-boog-a-looing quartet number Ripley Johnson amongst the crew, the hirsute auteur who also flits and flirts with his other creation-reaction-buccaneers Moon Duo. Tonight is a fuzz-rock motorik masterclass, an experience where TIME stands STILL, the astral plane (crash)lands and departs, you are in E-con-o-me-oh-my class, a higher-consciousness-raising, all chakras-blazing, hip-hypnotic show (and tell).
Taste: Savour the trip. And it is a trip. A trip to other realms, the canyons of your mind enhanced and entranced. A sensorious voyage of thrills, spills and brain-shake. Once ingested never bested. The summit is summat (atop is top).
Touch: Feel the (sur)real, (in/out)sound as tactility, heightened nerve-endings signifying enlightened beginnings.
Sight: a cavalcade of colours, a kaleidoscopic-n-mix of optics and vision-things. An escape from the matrices of mundanity.
Sound: The sonar plexus nexus is activated, the cortex-vortex channelled and tracked. Relax, turn off your bind and boat up-dream.
Smell: the scent of (re)discovery, the nose knows, it knows no bounds. Follow your nasal instincts to the pan-aroma.
For the GMT-afflicted the clocks went back the night before, the extra hour proffered by the time-space-continuum the symbol of seasons/time/life passing/arriving at a rhyme-place-condominium.
For Wooden Shjips the time is now, the time is theirs, it can be yours too, if you choose, it’s yours to lose. Get (in) Shjip shape, (Back to) landlubbers.