Acid Mother Temple
April 26, 2017
April 27, 2017
Acid Mother's Temple
Acid Mother's Temple drill a hole into your cerebral cortex,
apply a lysergic poultice to the open wound and let nature take
its course. And course they do it on a fantastic voyage right
through your synapses. They let the effect build. Higashi Hiroshi
modulates a sine wave to set up a space rock tingle over a drone.
Tabata Mitsuru adds a splash of cheeky camp in white go
go boots, run nylons and a garment factory buck a bag blouse and
skirt. His occasional vocals add to the displacement.
Acid Mother's Temple
Mitsuru guitar plays Lloyd to Makoto 's Verlaine
if Marquee Moon was a sheet of blotter and Verlaine brought the
noise. That said, all ears are on Makoto. The simple repetitive
whole step and forth intervals set the "hit" that is Pink Lady
Lemonade into motion. The riff is supported by busy melodic bass,
shuffling drums and Kuiper Belt synth trails and theremin
squiggles. Makoto leads an increasingly jagged freakout
past the reluctantly downgraded Pluto. An unanticipated drop into
a bit of space funk is highlighted by the chicken scratch of Mitsuru's
second guitar. Finally, Satoshima's drums and S/T's
bass click into double time behind Makoto and the whole fucking
Wiry, inscrutable and wry, the genial Arto Lindsay looks
like the guy next door if he just happened to skronk a notable
rough mark into New York no-wave and a lighter but distinctive
imprimatur into the second wave of lilting pop Tropicalia. The
crowd at Once is respectable and enthusiastic. Tonight it's all
about the groove.
The band keeps a light but roiling touch throughout. They play
much of Lindsay's most recent Cuidado Madame disk. The
drummer lays down a loop then plays a skittish syncopated or skewed
hop hop groove. He layers in triggered splashes of percussion
and synth and keeps things busy and insistent, locked in or locked
out of the bass.
Melvin Gibbs on five string bass keeps the big grooves
fat on that bottom string. The black nylons sound fast, round
and smooth on his melodic runs. He dampens them all with his left
hand and slashes out a cool, almost tuneless rhythmic kick. He
twists it all up with judicious use of them there stompboxes.
The keys float pretty through the more winsome tunes - especially
those sung in Portuguese. Something about the electric keys reminds
me of the departed too soon Gil Scott Heron. Like the bass and
drums, the keys twist a few knobs and build up the groove.
Lindsay takes nothing you would recognize as a conventional
solo. When he works his Danelectro twelve string it is usually
with dampened strings and short bursts of contrast slash and burn
rhythm and a finger splay of notes up and down the neck that demand
your attention. He keeps it in check - maybe a bit too much.
He smiles or briefly contorts
his face like a transcendent Buddha happy to misbehave.
The lyrics skip the politics of Tropicalisimo in favor of the politics of lovers,
place, and relationships. Lindsay's vocals float on the band's midnight in a
muy hip Rio nightclub vibe. He takes great care with the lyrics. Small pushes,
bends on the notes and drops to an almost whisper create the tension and releases
in the vocal. Then, he tears at the fretboard. The band percolates. They encore
with the reggae tinged Simply Are. The surface is smooth but there are fantastic
creatures wriggling about down below. Discover something new.