LSD March: Under Milk Wood

Lumbering, Sparse, Bleak, Restraint, Stuck, Misanthropic.

Those were the notes I made when I listened to the first half of this new offering from LSD March, a Japanese psych rock duo from the city of Himeji in Japan. And all of those qualities apply to the woozy, narcotic atmosphere that the first four tracks traipse across their landscape, a landscape which might not be empty of nature but is barren in some cold and reflective way. As if the flora and fauna had been drugged or bewitched and LSD March don’t quite know how to break the spell. The guitar on ‘Ai Noi Sekabi’ plods to the rhythm of a working chain gang, the loops of caterwauling guitar on opener ‘Bisyonure No Kimi’ swirl like a blizzard. Wintry analogies abound on the label’s press release and they are applicable. There are a few sunnier moments, ‘Shiroi Sekai De’ recalls the warmer atmosphere of Hiroyuki Usui’s excellent collaboration with Ben Chasny, on the self-titled debut of August Born.

The sequence ends with the limping, back and forth guitar strums of ‘Sekai No Shizukesa’. A vibrato tone hovers in the background, distorted and subtly trippy. It sounds like the swirling of liquid in a resonating vessel. Vocalist and guitarist Michishita Shinsuke alternates a spoken, close to the ear delivery with a religious-sounding refrain sung far from the microphone, at the back of a room perhaps. Perhaps it is a reply to the words that are spoken; the lyrics on Under Milk Wood are in Japanese and with no translation provided with this CD, I am left to contemplate the assonance and downbeat delivery of the words.

A dripping percussion slows and the song dissipates into air; with it goes the dreamlike transience of the first half. ‘Dare Ga Hoeru’ is shunted along by a pneumatic Kraut-rock rhythm from drummer Takahashi Ikuro who’s deftness and subtle feel are integral to the album, here he is content to exhibit perfect simplicity. Shinsuke’s guitar grinds a simple overdriven riff, whinnying like a startled horse here and there. His heavily echoed vocals leave reflective contemplation behind and affect a shamanic, head-down strut. On the surface it sounds a little like Dead Meadow, but without the scenester coolness. The howling is closer to the bone and less of a fashion statement (which is a fine enough way to approach psychedelic rock in the right hands…). Although the track is sludgy and heavy it is not loud or raucous enough to be painful, so you don’t feel personally under attack. This seems like a wise choice. Although this track stands out on the album it is not a sore thumb, but could have been had the frequencies been as harsh as those that LSD March often blast out on previous albums and at live shows.

This gruff rocker is followed by the jerking cut and paste acoustic and electric guitars of ‘Taiyo No Uta’, a song that limps and stutters through its five minute duration. Over tumbling drum strikes, Shinsuke part talks and part sings. It is the only ramshackle section of the album and it sounds like LSD March are trying another way to break the pervasive heavy thoughts that cloud over what went before. Of course I am reading a lot into this track, but the semi-absurdity seems somehow necessary, as if the group were letting off some of the built up steam in order to see a little clearer.

The final song is ‘Kimi No Uta Wo Kiite Boku Wa Akuma Ni Natta’, a sentence which is repeatedly sung over the heavy drift of a repetitive guitar, taking us right back to the grey crispness that permeates the beginning. That is until halfway through, when Shinsuke bursts forth with some shrieks and snarls and the song settles into a direct and driven groove. The guitar sound is pretty vicious, it sounds like an effort to break out, to heat things up a little. The album was recorded in mid-winter, images of heavy snow adorn the cover and inserts and there is no bass playing on the album, which seems to influence the restraint. It is no wonder that LSD March left it a year to release Under Milk Wood, it sounds like a meditation on the emotional claustrophobia that creeps up on us when the sun sits at a low ebb. It’s a pretty stunning and diverse album, and it’s unique on my shelves.

On the edition I have there are a couple of untitled bonus tracks, perhaps every copy has them... They aren’t necessary but they contextualise the gloom of a head-trip with some rock and roll histrionics and it’s a good way to cap off the dense listen that makes up the intended albums parameters.