DARKSEID 1973 uncomped heavy garage fuzz psych 45 HEAR
$
312
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Description
How’d this fuzzed-out acid rock bad trip ever get released on a deep funk label like Brooks? Well, I guess it kinda makes sense, since by 1973, when this slab of caustic black vinyl magic clawed its way out of the musical womb, George Clinton and Funkadelic were already waist-deep in the mire of acid-fueled cosmic funk madness. There’s no funk to be found on this one, though there’s plenty of madness.
This is Darkseid, a co-ed heavy psych coven from the dark woods of Virginia, and either they dabbled in some serious black magic like Jimmy Page, or they collected Frank Frazetta artwork and had a lifetime subscription to Heavy Metal like that quiet kid in the back of your algebra class. More likely the latter, since they took their name from Superman’s nemesis, and sound like they’re trying to recreate the skull-splitting sword and sorcery moments from Led Zeppelin III on “Land of the Darker Sun.” They’re more psychedelic than Page/Plant, though, with much less of a budget, which gives their “Immigrant Song” rips a much rawer, looser, garagier edge. And they didn’t steal from old blues singers either.
The atomic explosion of electric feedback that rips from the speakers at the start of “Land of the Darker Sun” lets you know right away you’re in for some synapse-shredding fun. And once that stomping, lumbering elephantine rhythm section finds their groove, you might as well break out the Viking helmets and start pounding along. Piercing fuzz guitar licks rip through the wall of noise in the left channel, while a large gothic organ from the Church of Bones goes medieval on your a&* over on the right. Vocals are echoed beyond comprehension – you can tell they’re passionate about something, you just can’t quite make out what it is. I’m sure it has something to do with the skulls of dragons and scantily-clad Amazon princesses, though. And how it’s hard to get laid at sci-fi conventions.
“Ground Zero” is slightly less punishing, but in return, you get more psychedelic pleasures. This is pure acid-drenched lysergia – the piercing fuzz guitar licks that rip out of the right channel (this time) are loud enough to peel back skin. And the clattering, frenzied percussion sounds like two drummers banging away on whatever they can find – pots, pans, wood blocks, and the skulls of dragons and scantily-clad Amazon princesses. There’s a man and a woman handling vocals, although the lady gets the upper hand, making this song sound a lot like something off that Ivory album on Tetragrammaton. In short, whether they’re trying to blow your mind or blow out your eardrums, these kids from Virginny wouldn’t know what “subtlety” is if it smacked ‘em upside the head with a Level 10 Thunder Club. But then, neither did George Clinton, did he?
Original 1973 pressing on the Brooks label. Plays VG++.
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