Over the past few years The Black Angels have emerged as the patriarchs and greatest ambassadors for modern psych rock. They’re from the psych-rich city of Austin, have been at it for longer than most and have used their stature to help along worthy up-and-comers. In 2008 they founded the Austin Psych Fest, the nation’s preeminent celebration of the genre. Their music is full of reverb and warble, acid trippiness, jangly tambourines and a certain menacing, droning heaviness all their own. It’s all gold to psych fans, but appealing to those not already immersed in the scene has been a different story. In 2010 they released Phosphene Dream, easily their most dynamic, energetic and focused album to date. It still droned, it was still heavy, it was still The Black Angels, but its tightened arrangements made it less intimidating and more appetizing on a broader scale. They even played the poppy, British Invasion-inspired single “Telephone” on Letterman.
The Black Angels’ fourth album, Indigo Meadow, isn’t nearly as approachable as its predecessor, existing more as an iteration of a particular, darkened Alice in Wonderland-esque aesthetic than as a collection of songs that pop individually. If Phosphene Dream was akin to speeding across a sun-scorched desert (which it kind of was), Indigo Meadow is a dark, suffocating, drowsily medicated trip through…well, actually, some kind of lightless indigo meadow is a pretty good way to describe the tonal setting for most of the album. The effects are eerier, and catchy rhythms and smooth verse-to-chorus transitions are secondary to instilling a sense of hazy, slowly creeping disorientation. The album, particularly on songs like “Evil Things,” “Holland” and “Twisted Light,” seems to wallow in its own darkness rather than thrusting forward with the energy and momentum that was present on Phosphene Dream or even previous Black Angels albums.
The album is a disjointed trip but a trip nonetheless, and few can take listeners on a wandering journey better than The Black Angels.
