A great blend of Gnod's older, longform psychedelic work and their newer, harder-edged albums. The collaboration with Radar Men let Gnod stretch out again, but they don't lose any of the intensity from recent albums like The Mirror.
In 1965 the Dutch scientist and psychedelic pioneer Bart Huges embarked on a personal journey by taking an electric dentist’s drill and using it to open a hole in his skull, theorising that this measure - known as trepanation and chronicled in this book ‘The Mechanics Of Brain Blood Volume (BBV) - would result in enhanced mental power, and in effect a permanent high for the owner of the skull in question. Fifty-one years on, in 2016, this act formed an inspiration for a meeting of mind and matter on an entirely different level, as Salford’s imperious collective Gnod locked horns for a collaboration with Dutch psychedelic and experimental force Radar Men From The Moon, also originally set to take place in the Netherlands, at Eindhoven Psych Lab.
Written and recorded in only four days, the result is four uncompromising transmissions, informed equally by stark intensity and hypnotic repetition. ‘Temple Of BBV’ sees both acts spurring the other on to higher peaks of intensity. “Both bands had agreed from the off that we were not just gonna go in there and just jam and play over each other for hours in the hope that something good would happen” elaborates Gnod's Paddy Shine. “We went in with the mindset of creating sound structures which turned out to be a very gratifying process"
Powerful testimony to the expansive and exploratory nature of both bands, ‘Temple Of BBV’ is a radical foray into the unknown that exists firmly outside of genre or classification. Aptly, the set will be performed once again as part of Gnod’s residency at this years Roadburn Festival. The collaboration maps out intimidating psychic landscapes that revel in challenge and confrontation, and appear set to enter the skulls of the uninitiated by any means necessary.
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Prior to the release of The Mirror, Gnod had generally been a long-form, krautrock-influenced psychedelic collective, putting out tribal rhythm, pagan rituals on LP. That's why the first 30 seconds of The Mirror are so shocking: This is repetitive, heavily political, metallic post-punk. It sounds less like Amon Duul and more like Metal Box-era PiL or Cop-era Swans, with angry sloganeering about the rise of fascism shouted above the din. Levrikon